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UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 
II 


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■  u- 


THE    CHILD'S   FAVORITE 


THE 


tllii^i    »Af®»ttffI 


A    GIFT    FOR    THE    YOUNG 


1  17     A     ILllfo 


GEORGE    S.   APPLETON,    148   CHESNUT    STREET 

D  .   APPLETON    &    CO.   200    BROAD  WA  Y . 
1647. 


THE 


CHILD'S    FAVORITE 


A    GIFT    FOR    THE    YOUNG. 


BY    A    LADY- 


PHILADELPHIA: 
GEO.  S.  APPLETON,  148  CHESNUT  STREET. 

NEW   YORK: 
D.  APPLETON  &  CO.,  200  BROADWAY. 

1847. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1846, 

BY  GEO.  S.  APPLETON, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  and 
for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


PREFACE. 

To  write  for  the  entertainment  and  instruction 
of  children,  in  such  a  style  as  to  he  both  useful  and 
agreeable  to  them,  is  one  of  those  nice  problems 
which  it  has  taken  some  of  the  most  distinguished 
authors  of  our  times  to  solve  in  a  satisfactory 
manner.  Children  are  pretty  good  critics  in  their 
way.  They  are  excellent  judges  of  effect.  Their 
moral  perceptions  are  unsophisticated.  Their 
sympathies  are  all  alive.  They  enter  into  the 
spirit  of  a  story,  without  reserve,  provided  always, 
that  there  is  any  spirit  in  it.  They  are  wedded  to 
no  system.  They  belong  neither  to  the  romantic 
nor  the  classical  school.  They  relish  nature  in  her 
simplicity ;  and  the  common   sense  of  mankind, 


8  PREFACE. 

which  is  pronounced  by  high  authority  to  be  the 
ultimate  standard  of  taste,  is  precisely  the  standard 
to  which  children  refer  the  books  which  they  read. 
Their  sense  is  common  sense.  Whoever  really 
pleases  them  is  capable  of  pleasing  the  public  of 
grown  up  people — "  the  children  of  a  larger 
growth." 

It  is  with  a  full  understanding  of  this  doctrine 
that  the  editor  of  the  "Child's  Favorite"  has 
entered  upon  her  duties.  In  the  preparation  of  the 
volume  she  has  aimed  at  sterling  merit.  She  has 
chosen  her  stories  with  reference  not  only  to  their 
moral  effect,  but  their  artistical  effect  on  the  per- 
ceptions of  children.  How  far  she  has  succeeded 
in  this  design  the  public,  that  is  to  say,  the  juvenile 
public,  will  very  promptly  decide. 


CONTENTS 


The  Proud  Girl, 

Page 
9 

The  Pet  Lamb, 

. 

18 

November, 

21 

The  Mouse's  Petition, 

. 

27 

The  Last  of  the  Giants, 

. 

30 

The  Captive, 

. 

71 

The  Governess;  or,  Pride  will  have  a  Fall,     . 

73 

Madame  Roland, 

. 

112 

The  Generous  Brother, 

. 

.       144 

Self-Conquest, 

. 

177 

The  Favorite  Dog, 

. 

.      199 

Christiana  of  Holstein, 

214 

THE   PROUD   GIRL. 


Little  Annie  Marsden,  was  the  only 
child  of  rich  parents.  Her  mother  was  a 
pious  lady,  and  sought  to  instil  into  the  mind 
of  her  daughter  those  principles  of  Christian 
humility  and  self-denial,  which  are  necessary 
to  our  being  useful  and  contented  in  this 
world,  and  happy  in  the  world  to  come.  But 
her  efforts  were  in  a  great  measure  rendered 

2 


10  THE    CHILD'S   FAVORITE. 

vain  by  the  children  with  whom  Annie  was 
permitted  to  associate,  and  the  servants  into 
whose  care  she  was  frequently  thrown,  by 
the  occasional  illness  of  her  mother.  She 
was  often  told  that  she  was  rich,  and  destined 
to  be  a  great  heiress ;  that  she  must  not  take 
notice  of  this  or  that  person,  because  they 
were  her  inferiors ;  and,  in  short,  she  was 
made  to  believe  that  she  was  a  person  of 
great  consequence,  and  entitled  to  look  down 
upon  others  with  contempt.  This  was  unfor- 
tunate ;  for  her  natural  disposition  was  good, 
and  only  such  influence  could  have  turned 
her  little  head  and  made  her  see  things  in  a 
wrong  light.  Things  at  last  came  to  such  a 
pass  that  she  thought  only  rich  people  were 
fit  to  be  spoken  to,  and  a  mean  or  coarse 


THE    PROUD    GIRL.  11 

dress  was,  in  her  opinion,  a  mark  of  degra- 
dation. 

One  day,  when  the  family  was  passing  the 
summer  at  their  beautiful  country  seat  on  the 
Delaware,  not  far  from  Philadelphia,  an  hon- 
est farmer,  who  lived  in  the  neighbourhood, 
brought  a  supply  of  butter  for  the  family, 
and  seeing  the  little  girl,  who  was  very  beau- 
tiful, sporting  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the 
house,  resolved  to  gratify  her  by  making  her 
a  little  present.  Accordingly,  on  his  next 
visit  to  the  house,  he  brought  her  a  basket  of 
fine  cherries,  and  offered  them  to  her  himself 
as  soon  as  he  saw  her  playing  on  the  green. 
The  little  lady,  instead  of  evincing  any 
gratification  at  this  mark  of  good  will,  re- 
fused to  accept  the  offered  gift,  telling  the 


12  THE    CHILD'S    FAVORITE. 

farmer  that  it  was  not  for  her  to  accept  of 
presents  from  such  as  he — that  her  father 
was  able  to  buy  her  all  the  cherries  she 
wanted,  and  that  he  had  better  give  them  to 
some  poor  person. 

The  good  farmer  was  more  amused  than 
affronted,  at  the  petulance  of  the  spoiled 
child,  and  merely  said  that  she  would  pro- 
bably live  long  enough  to  learn  the  value  of 
a  poor  man's  good  will. 

The  very  next  day  Annie  was  playing  in 
the  garden,  at  the  foot  of  which  ran  a  deep 
brook,  crossed  by  a  rustic  bridge,  and  emp- 
tying into  the  Delaware.  In  the  midst  of 
her  play  she  saw  some  beautiful  pond  lilies 
raising  their  modest  head  and  diffusing  their 
sweet  fragrance  over  the  waters  of  the  brook. 


THE    PROUD    GIRL.  13 

She  knew  the  flowers  well ;  for  she  had  often 
been  presented  with  similar  ones ;  and  she 
longed  to  obtain  one  of  them.  Indeed  such 
was  her  impatience  to  possess  one  that,  with- 
out waiting  to  call  one  of  the  servants,  she 
seized  a  garden  rake,  which  was  lying  in  one 
of  the  gravelled  walks,  ran  down  to  the  steep 
banks  of  the  brook,  and  reached  out  into  the 
water  to  gather  one.  She  was  so  far  suc- 
cessful as  to  reach  the  flower  and  attach  the 
rake  to  it ;  but  in  her  eagerness  to  pull  it  to- 
wards her  she  lost  her  balance,  and  plunged 
headlong  into  the  brook.  When,  after  the 
first  plunge,  her  head  came  up  out  of  the 
water,  she  uttered  a  piercing  shriek  for  help. 
But  she  speedily  sunk  again,  and  would,  un- 
doubtedly, have  been  drowned,  if  her  first 


14  THE    CHILD'S    FAVORITE. 

cry  had  not  caught  the  ear  of  a  farmer,  who 
was  crossing  an  adjoining  field,  and  who  ran 
to  her  assistance,  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and, 
by  laying  hold  of  a  tree  near  the  bank,  soon 
succeeded  in  bringing  her  safely  to  land. 

She  was  carried  into  the  house  quite  in- 
sensible, and  was  ill  for  several  days  after 
from  the  effects  of  the  cold  water  and  the 
fright.  Her  pious  mother,  in  the  mean  time, 
had  sought  to  impress  upon  her  mind  the 
duty  of  humble  thankfulness  which  she  owed 
to  her  Creator,  for  having  rescued  her  from 
a  watery  grave,  and  having  thus,  a  second 
time,  blessed  her  with  the  gift  of  life.  Nor 
did  she  fail  to  impress  upon  her  mind  the 
debt  of  gratitude  which  she  owed  to  the  wor- 
thy farmer,  who  had  so  promptly  come  to  her 


THE    PROUD    GIRL.  15 

assistance ;  and  when  Annie  was  sufficiently 
recovered  to  see  him  her  mother  invited  Mr. 
Gray  to  come  into  the  drawing-room,  where 
she  lay,  still  weak  and  feeble,  upon  the  sofa, 
in  order  that  he  might  see  her  and  receive 
her  thanks  in  person. 

But  Mr.  Gray  made  light  of  the  matter, 
said  it  was  of  no  consequence  ;  it  was  a  mat- 
ter of  course ;  it  was  no  more  than  he  would 
have  done  for  any  child,  or  any  human  being 
in  the  same  circumstances.  So  it  was  not 
till  Annie  was  fully  recovered  that  she  saw 
the  man  who  had  saved  her  life  ;  and  then  it 
was  by  accident.  She  was  sitting  with  her 
mother  in  the  parlour,  when  Mr.  Gray  came 
in  to  receive  his  pay  for  some  butter,  and  then 
the  poor  girl  had  the  mortification  to  learn 


16  THE    CHILD'S   FAVORITE. 

that  he  who  had  been  instrumental  in  pre- 
serving her,  was  no  other  than  the  very  man 
whom  she  had  so  grossly  insulted  by  refusing 
his  little  present. 

She  thanked  him,  however,  very  fervently, 
and  with  a  really  humbled  spirit.  Mr.  Gray, 
worthy  man,  was  somewhat  embarrassed  at 
her  emotion;  but  still  he  retained  self-pos- 
session enough  to  say, 

"My  dear  little  lady,  the  service  which  I 
was  so  fortunate  as  to  render  you,  cost  me 
but  a  very  trifling  exertion,  and  I  really  think 
it  of  no  importance  so  far  as  I  am  concerned ; 
but  it  may  be  further  useful  to  you  by  caus- 
ing you  to  remember  that  what  I  said  to  you 
before  is  very  true — that  the  good  will  even 
of  a  poor  man  is  worth  something." 


THE    PROUD    GIRL.  17 

When  he  was  gone,  Annie's  mother  said 
to  her  :  "  My  dear  child,  the  Scripture  com- 
mands us  to  '  honour  all  men.'  In  every  one 
there  is  something  worthy  of  respect  and  rev- 
erence. All  are  from  God's  creating  hand. 
All  should  be  treated  with  Christian  courtesy. 
Politeness  is  due  even  to  the  humblest;  and 
those  who  are  too  proud  to  be  polite,  should 
remember  that  pride  will  have  a  fall  sooner 
or  later." 

It  was  fortunate  for  Annie  that  her  pride 
had  a  fall  so  early  in  life ;  for  she  was  at 
once  and  for  ever  cured  of  this  fault. 


THE   PET  LAMB. 


My  pretty  one,  my  pretty  one, 

I  would  not  part  with  thee 
For  all  the  beauties  of  the  land 

Or  treasures  of  the  sea. 
Thine  eye  is  brighter  than  a  star, 

Thy  fleece  like  driven  snow  ; 
Thy  voice,  oh  !  sweeter  than  the  sound 

Of  rivers  as  they  flow. 

My  pretty  one,  my  pretty  one, 

I've  sought  through  field  and  wood, 

For  honey-flowers  and  tender  grass, 
And  clover  for  thy  food  ; 


THE    PET   LAMB.  19 

I've  some,  like  gold  and  silver  cups, 

All  filled  with  dews  for  wine ; 
Come,  show  thee  thankful,  and  this  feast, 

My  favorite,  shall  be  thine. 

No  other  little  girl,  I'm  sure, 

Would  love  thee  half  so  dear, 
Would  strive  to  know  what  best  thou  lik'st, 

And  seek  it  far  and  near  ; 
Would  bring  thee  water  from  the  fount, 

Clear,  beautiful,  and  deep  ; 
Or  make,  at  night,  a  bed  so  soft, 

For  thee,  sweet  lamb,  to  sleep. 

Besides,  thou  knowest,  'twas  I  that  saved 

Thine  innocent  young  life ; 
The  butcher-boy  had  tied  thee  down — 

Had  raised  his  cruel  knife  ! 
I  wept ! — my  dear,  my  good  mamma, 

Could  not  behold  me  cry  ; 
So  for  her  fond,  her  grateful  girl, 

Thee,  beauteous  lamb,  did  buy. 


20  the  child's  favorite. 

Then  come  and  love  me  very  well ; 

And  when  thy  dinner's  o'er, 
We'll  dance  and  play  along  the  green, 

Or  by  the  bright  sea  shore ; 
Now  kiss  me — kiss  me  prettily, 

For  very  kind  I  am  ; 
And  proud  of  thee,  my  beautiful, 

My  own  dear  little  lamb. 


Swain. 


NOVEMBER. 

"  At  length  it  comes,  among-  the  forest  oaks, 
With  sobbing  ebbs,  and  uproar  gathering  high. 

The  scared  hoarse  raven  in  his  cradle  croaks, 
And  slack  dove  flutters  in  its  terrors  by, 
While  the  blue  hawk  hangs  o'er  them  in  the  sky. 

The  hedger  hastens  from  the  storm  begun, 
To  seek  a  shelter  that  may  keep  him  dry, 

And  foresters  low  bent  the  wind  to  shun ; 

Scarce  heard  amid  the  strife  the  poacher's  muttering  gun." 

Winter  is  coming !  Boreas  with  his  loud 
horn  blows  the  leaves  from  the  trees.  Mens 
and  boys,  wrap  your  cloaks  or  coats  close 


22  the  child's  favorite. 

around  you.  Now  come  gathering  glooms 
and  fogs.  Now  come  cold  rains,  as  if  the 
earth  required  the  cold  water  cure ;  the  trees 
are  dripping,  the  eaves  are  pouring,  and  the 
torn  ragged-skirted  clouds,  seemingly  drag- 
ged downwards,  slantwise,  by  the  threads  of 
dusky  rain  that  descend  from  them,  are  all 
mingled  together  in  one  blind  confusion  ; 
while  the  few  cattle  that  are  left  in  the  open 
pastures,  forgetful  of  their  feeding,  turn  their 
backs  upon  the  besieging  storm,  and  hanging 
down  their  heads  till  their  noses  touch  the 
ground,  stand  out  in  the  middle  of  the  fields 
motionless,  like  images. 

Now  the  felling  of  wood  for  the  winter 
store — the  measured  strokes  of  the  wood- 
man's axe,  heard  far  away  in  the  thick  forest, 


NOVEMBER.  23 

bring  with  their  sound  an  associated  feeling 
similar  to  that  produced  by  a  wreath  of  smoke 
rising  from  out  the  same  scene.  The  busy- 
flail,  too,  which  is  now  in  full  employment, 
fills  the  air  about  the  homestead  with  a  plea- 
sant sound,  and  invites  little  girls  and  boys 
to  look  in  at  the  open  doors  of  the  barn,  and 
see  the  wheat-stack  reaching  to  the  roof,  on 
either  hand,  the  little  pyramid  of  bright  grain 
behind  the  threshers,  the  scattered  ears  be- 
tween them,  leaping  and  rustling  from  their 
fast  falling  strokes,  and  the  flail  itself  flying 
harmless  round  the  labourer's  head,  though 
seeming  to  threaten  danger  at  every  turn  ; 
while  outside,  the  flock  of  barn-door  poultry 
ply  their  ceaseless  search  for  food  among  the 
knee-deep  straw;    and  the  cattle,  all  their 


24  THE    CHILD'S    FAVORITE. 

summer  frolics  forgotten,  stand  ruminating 
beside  the  half  empty  hay-rick,  or  lean  with 
inquiring  faces  over  the  gate  that  looks  down 
the  village,  or  away  towards  the  distant  pas- 
tures. 

Of  the  birds  that  have  hitherto  made 
merry,  even  at  the  approach  of  winter,  now 
all  are  silent — all,  save  that  one  who  now 
barns  the  title  of  the  household  bird,  by 
haunting  the  thresholds  and  window-sills, 
and  casting  sidelong  glances  within  doors,  as 
if  to  reconnoitre  the  positions  of  all  within, 
before  the  pinching  frosts  force  him  to  lay 
aside  his  fears,  and  flit  in  and  out  silently, 
like  a  winged  spirit — all  are  now  silent  ex- 
cept him  ;  but  he,  as  he  sits  on  the  pointed 
palings  beside  the  doorway,  or  on  the  top- 


NOVEMBER.  25 

most  twig  of  the  apple  tree,  that  has  been 
left  growing  in  the  otherwise  closely-clipped 
hedge,  pipes  plaintive  ditties,  with  a  low 
inward  voice  ;  while  here  and  there  a  stray 
grasshopper  is  found  chirping  to  the  creak- 
ing houghs. 

Now  the  farmer  finishes  all  his  out  of  door 
work,  before  the  frosts  set  in,  and  lays  by  his 
implements  till  the  awakening  of  spring  calls 
him  to  his  hard  labour  again. 

Now  the  sheep,  all  their  other  more  natural 
food  failing,  begin  to  be  penned  on  patches 
of  the  turnip  field,  where  they  first  devour 
the  green  tops  joyfully,  and  then  gradually 
hollow  out  the  juicy  root,  holding  it  firm  with 
their  feet  till  nothing  is  left  but  the  dry  brown 
husk. 


26  the  child's  favorite. 

Now  the  herds  stand  all  daylong  hanging 
their  disconsolate  heads  beside  the  leafless 
hedges,  and  waiting  as  anxiously,  though 
patiently,  to  be  called  home  to  the  hay-fed 
stall,  as  they  do  in  summer  to  be  driven  to 
the  field. 

Nowt  the  rain-storm  breaks  up  all  the  path- 
ways, and  makes  home  no  longer  home  to 
those  who  are  not  obliged  to  leave  it,  while 
it  becomes  doubly  endeared  to  those  that 
are. 


THE  MOUSE'S  PETITION. 


Oh  !  hear  a  pensive  prisoner's  prayer, 

For  liberty  that  sighs  ; 
And  never  let  thine  heart  be  shut 

Against  the  wretch's  cries. 


For  here  forlorn  and  sad  I  sit, 

Within  the  wiry  gate ; 
And  trembling  at  the  approaching  morn, 

Which  brings  impending  fate. 


28  the  child's  favorite. 

If  e'er  thy  breast  with  freedom  glowed, 
And  spurned  a  tyrant's  chain, 

Let  not  thy  strong-  oppressive  force 
A  free-born  Mouse  detain. 


Oh  !  do  not  stain  with  guiltless  blood, 

Thy  hospitable  hearth  ; 
Nor  triumph  that  thy  wiles  betrayed 

A  prize  so  little  worth. 


The  scattering  gleanings  of  a  feast 
My  frugal  meals  supply : 

But  if  thine  unrelenting  heart 
That  gentle  boon  deny  ; 


The  cheerful  light,  the  vital  air, — 
Are  blessings  widely  given ; 

Let  Nature's  commoners  enjoy 
The  common  gifts  of  Heaven. 


the  mouse's  petition.  29 

The  well-taught,  philosophic  mind, 

To  all  compassion  gives ; 
Casts  round  the  world  an  equal  eye, 

And  feels  for  all  that  lives. 


Or,  since  this  transient  gleam  of  day- 
Is  all  of  life  we  share ; 

Let  pity  plead  within  thy  breast, 
That  little  all  to  spare. 


So  may  thy  hospitable  board 

With  health  and  peace  be  crowned ; 
And  every  charm  of  heart-felt  ease 

Beneath  thy  roof  be  found. 


So,  when  destruction  lurks  unseen, 
Which  men,  like  mice,  may  share, 

May  some  kind  angel  clear  thy  path, 
And  break  the  hidden  snare. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  GIANTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Mr.  Bull  was  a  very  respectable  elderly 
gentleman,  well  to  do  in  the  world,  upright, 
honest,  and  hospitable,  but  rather  too  fond 
of  money.  To  be  sure,  he  had  a  large  and 
increasing  family,  and  was  naturally  anxious 
to  provide  a  maintenance  for  them.  But,  to 
say  the  truth,  he  was  very  fond  of  making 
himself  comfortable;  and  fell,  like  many 
°thers,  into  the  error  of  thinking  that  the 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    GIANTS.  31 

only  way  of  doing  so  was  by  making  himself 
rich. 

It  was  Mr.  Bull's  custom,  after  dinner, 
when  Mrs.  Bull  had  withdrawn,  to  sit  and 
ruminate  on  things  in  general — such  as  the 
price  of  funds,  cattle,  and  corn — the  state  of 
commerce — the  glory  and  wealth  of  Eng- 
land; then  he  would  think  how  remarkable 
it  was  that  one  Englishman  could  beat  three 
Frenchmen — and  he  would  snap  his  fingers, 
and  cry  "  a  fig  for  Bony !"  and  hum  a  verse 
of  his  favorite  song : — 

"  While  by  our  commerce  and  arts  we  are  able 
To  see  the  sirloin  smoking  hot  on  the  table, 
The  French  may  e'en  burst  like  the  frog  in  the  fable. 
O,  the  roast  beef  of  old  England, 
And  0,  the  old  English  roast  beef!" 

One  evening,  having  finished  his  bottle, 


32  THE    CHILD'S    FAVORITE. 

Mr.  Bull   proceeded    to  the  drawing-room 
rather  earlier  than  usual. 

Thomas,  the  man-servant,  had  just  set  out 
the  tea-things,  and  placed  the  kettle  on  the 
lire — for  they  were  old-fashioned  times  of 
which  we  are  speaking — and  Mrs.  Bull  had 
gone  up  stairs  to  see  the  children  put  to  bed, 
where  she  was  detained  rather  longer  than 
usual,  because  little  Dicky  was  naughty,  and 
would  not  have  his  hair  combed. 

The  old  gentleman  seated  himself  very 
comfortably  in  his  arm-chair,  and  placed  his 
feet  on  the  fender,  intending  to  await  Mrs. 
Bull's  return  :  when — how  it  happened  was 
never  exactly  known— but  as  he  was  medi- 
tating on  the  great  increase  of  his  family, 
and  the  necessity  of   doing   something   for 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    GIANTS.  33 

them,  he  witnessed,  between  sleeping  and 
waking,  the  following  extraordinary  vision  : 

It  appeared  to  him  as  though  an  unusual 
volume  of  steam  began  to  issue  from  the 
spout  of  the  tea-kettle,  until  it  spread  through 
the  whole  room ;  then  collecting  itself  to- 
gether, it  gradually  assumed  the  form  of  a 
gigantic  human  figure.  The  figure  was  that 
of  a  forge-man,  or  iron-founder;  his  shirt- 
sleeves were  tucked  up,  so  as  to  display  a 
pair  of  muscular  arms;  on  his  head  was 
stuck  a  striped  cotton  night-cap;  and  a 
rough  leathern  apron  overspread  the  nether 
part  of  his  person. 

Resting  with  one  arm  on  an  enormous  iron 
crow-bar,  and  sticking  the  other  a-kimbo  on 
his  hip,  the  figure  thus  addressed  him  : — 


34  the  child's  favorite. 

"  Mr.  Bull,  you  see  before  you  the  Giant 
Atmodes." 

"The  giant  what?"  said  Mr.  Bull,  not  in 
the  least  alarmed ;  for  he  had  pretty  good 
nerves. 

"The  Giant  Atmodes." 

"That  is  a  very  odd  name,"  said  Mr. 
Bull. 

"  I  am  called  by  some  the  Giant  of 
Steam,"  replied  the  figure. 

"  Oh !  now  you  speak  English,  I  under- 
stand you,"  said  Mr.  Bull ;  "  and  pray  Mr. 
Giant,  what  may  your  business  be  with  me  ?" 

"I  am  come,"  said  the  giant,  "to  offer 
you  my  service." 

"And  what  work  are  you  able  to  do?" 
inquired  Mr.  Bull. 


THE    LAST   OF    THE    GIANTS.  35 

"  Able  !"  said  the  giant,  with  a  contempt- 
uous smile,  extending  his  brawny  arm,  "  I 
am  able  to  do  any  thing.  I  could  move  the 
world,  if  I  had  a  place  to  stand  on." 

"  You  seem  able-bodied  enough,"  said  Mr. 
Bull,  "there  is  no  denying  that;  and  what 
wages  do  you  ask?" 

The  giant  paused  a  moment ;  and  Mr.  Bull 
awaited  his  reply. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  he  at  last,  "I  will  tell 
you  what.  Though  I  look  so  strong,  I  can- 
not live  without  a  good  fire.  My  constitu- 
tion requires  a  good  deal  of  heat ;  so  if  you 
will  keep  me  well  in  fuel  out  of  your  coal- 
pits, I  will  engage  to  work  for  you." 

"  Well,  I  will  think  of  a  job  for  you,"  said 
Mr.  Bull,  "  if  you  will  call  again  to-morrow ; 


36  the  child's  favorite. 

or  perhaps,  you  had  better  favor  me  with 
your  address." 

"  You  have  only  to  call  me/'  said  the 
giant,  "  and  I  shall  be  at  your  bidding 
Whenever  you  want  me,  please  to  set  a 
kettle  or  boiler  on  the  fire,  and  pronounce 
the  following  words  : — 

"  Fe  fa,  fum— come,  giant,  come, 
With  fire  and  smoke — with  coal  and  coke, 
Whizzing,  fizzing — thumping,  bumping, 
Come,  giant,  come  !" 

"  This  is  very  strange,"  thought  Mr. 
Bull.  "  And  pray,  Mr.  Giant/'  he  said, 
"  how  do  I  know  that  this  is  all  true  ? — 
what  token  can  you  give  me  that  it  is  a 
reality?" 

"  Oh,  you  want  a  token?"  said  the  giant, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    GIANTS.  37 

with  a  cunning  look ;  "  let  this  be  your 
token  :"  and  with  that  he  raised  his  massive 
crow-bar,  which  was  red-hot,  and  gently 
touching  Mr.  Bull's  toe,  vanished  with  a  loud 
laugh,  amid  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  steam. 

Mr.  Bull  started  from  his  chair  in  an 
agony  of  pain,  and  the  giant  was  no  where 
to  be  seen ;  only  the  tea-kettle  had  boiled 
over,  and  was  pouring  from  its  spout  a  tor- 
rent of  scalding  water,  a  portion  of  which 
had  fallen  on  Mr.  Bull's  foot. 


38  the  child's  favorite. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Mr.  Bull  sat  pondering  in  his  chair  all 
that  evening,  so  that  his  wife  complained  she 
could  not  get  a  word  out  of  him.  All  night 
he  lay  without  a  wink  of  sleep,  first  turning 
to  this  side,  and  next  to  that,  in  great  per- 
plexity of  mind.  The  next  day  he  passed 
partly  in  his  study,  and  partly  walking  up 
and  down  the  gravel  walk,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  in  deep  meditation.  When  the 
evening  was  come,  and  they  were  again  alone 
together  at  tea  (a  meal  at  which  Mr.  Bull 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    GIANTS.  39 

was  accustomed  to  be  more  than  usually 
communicative),  he  thus  abruptly  addressed 
his  wondering  spouse  : — 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Bull,"  said  he,  "  have  you 
ever  seen  a  giant?" 

"A  giant!"  answered  Mrs.  Bull;  "no, 
indeed,  never." 

"  i"  have"  said  Mr.  Bull,  with  a  very 
marked  emphasis. 

"  You  don't  say  so,"  said  Mrs.  Bull ;  "  why 
I  thought  they  had  all  been  destroyed  in  the 
time  of  Jack  the  Giant  Killer." 

"  Not  all"  said  Mr.  Bull  in  the  same  sig- 
nificant tone. 

"And  pray,"  said  his  wife,  "when  and 
where  was  it  that  you  saw  this  giant  ?" 

"  Yesterday  evening,  in  this  very  room," 


40  the  child's  favorite. 

answered  Mr.  Bull;  "and  if  you  like,  you 
shall  sqe  him  too." 

It  was  a  hard  struggle  which  took  place 
in  the  good  lady's  breast,  between  her  fears 
and  her  curiosity ;  however,  the  latter  pre- 
vailed, and  she  signified  her  determination  to 
be  introduced  to  the  gigantic  visiter.  Ac- 
cordingly, when  the  servant  had  removed 
the  tea-things  from  the  table,  Mr.  Bull 
said : — 

"  Thomas,  you  may  leave  the  tea-kettle." 

"  Sir?"  said  Thomas,  looking  astonished. 

"  You  may  leave  the  tea-kettle,  Thomas," 
again  said  Mr.  Bull,  in  rather  a  peremptory 
tone. 

As  soon  as  Thomas  was  gone,  and  the 
door  fastened,  Mr.  Bull  placed  his  wife  in  a 


THE    LAST   OF   THE    GIANTS.  41 

convenient  situation  to  witness  the  scene, 
and  then  proceeded  with  his  incantation. 
The  steam  poured  from  the  kettle — the 
awful  words  were  spoken — and  the  giant 
again  appeared.  Mrs.  Bull  uttered  a  slight 
cry  of  terror  at  the  suddenness  of  the  appa- 
rition, but  otherwise  conducted  herself  with 
great  propriety. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  giant,  raising  his  hand  re- 
spectfully to  his  night-cap,  and  drawing  back 
one  leg,  "I  have  come  at  your  bidding." 

<"Tis  well,"  said  Mr.  Bull;  "I  have 
thought  of  a  job  for  you." 

"  Only  name  it,  and  it  shall  be  done,"  said 
the  giant. 

"  One  of  my  coal-pits,"  continued  the  old 

gentleman,  "is  full  of  water;  and  if  you  are 
4 


42  THE    CHILD'S   FAVORITE. 

really-  as  good  a  workman  as  you  profess  to 
be,  I  shall  thank  you  to  empty  it." 

"  To  hear  is  to  obey,"  said  Atmodes ;  "  all 
I  shall  want  will  be  a  good  large  kettle  and  a 
few  iron  pipes." 

Mr.  Bull  promised  that  they  should  be 
provided ;  and  the  giant  vanished  from  the 
room,  much  to  the  relief  of  the  good  lady. 

Atmodes  was  as  good  as  his  word  :  the 
apparatus  was  completed,  and  Mr.  Bull  soon 
had  the  satisfaction  to  see  the  water  disap- 
pear from  his  coal-pit,  and  his  men  hard  at 
work  again  at  the  bottom.  Unfortunately, 
as  the  giant  was  working  hard  to  finish  his 
job,  the  boiler  burst,  and  the  hot  water  and 
fragments  of  the  vessel  were  scattered  far 
and  wide,  scalding  several  men,  and  maiming 


THE    LAST   OF   THE    GIANTS.  43 

one  for  life.  Mr.  Bull  was  very  angry,  and 
blamed  the  giant ;  but  Atmodes  declared  it 
was  no  fault  of  his,  for  Mr.  Bull  should  have 
made  the  boiler  stronger ;  and  to  this  Mr. 
Bull  had  nothing  to  answer,  but  that  the 
boiler  should  be  stronger  the  next  time. 


44  THE    CHILD  S   FAVORITE 


CHAPTER  III. 

"Well,  wife,"  said  Mr.  Bull,  "what  do 
you  think  of  our  new  servant?" 

"  Why,  he  is  a  useful  sort  of  giant,"  said 
Mrs.  Bull. 

"  We  must  find  another  job  for  him,  now 
that  he  has  cleared  out  the  pit.  What  shall 
it  be?" 

Mrs.  Bull,  who,  like  her  husband,  had  an 
eye  to  what  was  useful,  said,  "  Don't  you 
think,  dear,  that  the  giant  might  make  us  a 
good  piece  of  broad-cloth  for  winter  cloth- 
ing?" 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    GIANTS.  45 

"I  dare  say  he  would,"  said  Mr.  Bull; 
"  suppose  we  ask  hirn."  The  giant  was  sum- 
moned, and  had  no  objection,  provided  the 
proper  materials  were  prepared :  "  And  I 
shall  want  a  few  hands,"  he  added,  "  to  bring 
me  coke  and  other  refreshments." 

"  Well,  suppose  we  send  to  the  work-house 
— there  are  a  good  many  idle  fellows  there ; 
it  will  be  a  nice  job  for  them." 

So  the  giant  set  to  work  at  weaving,  and 
soon  produced  a  fine  large  piece  of  broad- 
cloth, enough  to  clothe  the  whole  family  from 
top  to  toe. 

"I  have  been  thinking,"  said  Mrs.  Bull, 
"  that  now  Watty  is  at  work  (for  they  had 
got  quite  familiar  with  the  giant,  and  used  to 
call  him  Atty,  or  more  commonly  Watty),  I 


46  the  child's  favorite. 

have  thought  that  he  might  make  a  few  more 
pieces  of  cloth  to  sell  to  our  neighbors. 
What  say  you,  Watty?'' 

"Well,"  said  the  giant,  "I  must  have  a 
few  more  hands  to  feed  me :  no  giant  can 
work  without  victuals." 

"  That's  rather  awkward,"  said  Mr.  Bull, 
"  for  all  our  hands  are  pretty  well  employed. 
However,  I  suppose  we  must  send  for  Joe 
Carter  from  the  field,  and  Will  Ditcher. 
That  bit  of  draining  may  stand  over  for  a 
while."  So  the  laborers  were  sent  for  out 
of  the  field,  and  turned  into  stokers,  and  had 
to  supply  coke  and  water  to  the  giant.  They 
did  not  much  like  the  job,  for  it  made  them  as 
black  and  dirty  as  colliers ;  and  they  heartily 
wished  that  Watty  and  his  engine  had  been 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    GIANTS.  47 

at  the  bottom  of  the  Red  sea.  However, 
master  would  have  it  so,  and  they  were 
obliged  to  submit.  So  Watty  worked  away, 
and  made  pieces  of  cloth  one  after  another ; 
and  his  master  set  up  a  great  shop  in  the 
town,  and  supplied  all  the  neighbors  round. 
And  so  Mr.  Bull  began  to  get  very  rich, 
though  the  farm  was  not  so  well  looked  after 
as  it  had  been,  and  he  was  obliged  to  borrow, 
now  and  then,  a  few  bags  of  wheat  from  his 
neighbors  for  the  consumption  of  the  family, 
which  he  did  not  quite  approve  of. 


48  the  child's  favorite. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

One  day  Mrs.  Bull  said  to  her  husband, 
"Our  Watty  is  certainly  an  excellent  ser- 
vant, and  can  turn  his  hand  to  any  thing.  I 
"wonder  whether  he  could  not  make  me  a 
piece  of  silk  for  a  gown?" 

"  Let  us  try  him,"  said  Mr.  Bull.  So 
Watty  was  sent  for,  and  the  question  put  to 
him. 

"  Why,  as  to  that,"  said  he,  "  I  can  do  any 
thing  where  strength  is  required ;  but,"  he 
continued,  extending  a  great  horny  hand, 
which  would  have  crushed  an  ox,  "  you  see 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    GIANTS.  49 

these  fingers  of  mine  are  not  quite  delicate 
enough  to  manage  threads  of  silk  or  cotton ; 
but,"  he  added,  as  if  a  bright  thought  had 
struck  him,  "  if  you  would  just  let  some  of 
the  children  stand  by,  and  keep  the  threads 
right,  I  think  it  maybe  done." 

"  Oh,  the  little  dears,"  said  Mrs.  Bull, 
"  what  a  nice  occupation  for  them  !  I  will 
have  them  down  from  the  nursery  this  min- 
ute." Accordingly,  the  children  were  sent 
for  out  of  the  nursery  and  school-room,  and 
set  by  the  loom,  and  taught  to  tie  the  silk 
threads.  At  first  they  liked  it  very  much, 
and  thought  it  a  nice  thing  to  play  at  being 
useful ;  but  in  about  half  an  hour  little  Mary 
had  had  enough,  and  began  playing  with  her 
brother  Dickey  at  something  else, 


50  the  child's  favorite. 

"  Holloa  !"  roared  out  Watty,  in  a  voice 
of  thunder,  "  this  will  never  do,  Mr.  Bull. 
What's  the  use  of  my  working  away  in  this 
manner,  if  those  children  don't  keep  the 
threads  right?" 

"Go  on,  go  on!"  said  Mr.  Bull,  calling 
out  from  his  counting-house  ;  "I  will  send 
some  one  to  look  after  them."  So  he  desired 
Mr.  Grumpy,  the  foreman,  to  step  in  and  see 
what  the  children  were  about ;  and  if  they 
forgot  to  tie  the  threads,  just  to  remind  them 
what  they  had  to  do.  So  the  foreman,  who 
was  a  cross  sort  of  fellow,  walked  up  and 
down,  and  presently  saw  Miss  Julia  making 
faces  at  her  brother  Tom. 

"  Mind  your  work,  you  young  jade,"  said 
Mr.  Grumpy ;   and  gave  her  a  blow  with  a 


THE    LAST   OF   THE    GIANTS.  51 

strap,  that  made  a  great  black  mark  on  her 
back. 

This  gentle  hint  had  the  desired  effect,  and 
the  children  kept  very  steadily  to  their  work, 
so  that  in  a  few  days  a  beautiful  piece  of  silk 
was  woven,  out  of  which  Mrs.  Bull  made  a 
gown — "  the  best,"  she  declared,  "  she  ever 
had  in  her  life ;  so  cheap  too,  being  all  of 
home  manufacture." 

"  We  must  have  a  few  pieces  of  silk  for 
our  shop,"  said  Mr.  Bull. 

"But,"  said  Mrs.  Bull,  "I  don't  think  it 
quite  agrees  with  the  children.  Little  Mary 
is  getting  as  thin  as  a  whipping-post;  and 
they  all  come  home  so  tired  at  night,  really 
it  is  shocking  to  see  them;  beside,  they  lose 


52  the  child's  favorite. 

all  their  schooling,  and  on  Sunday  they  were 
too  tired  to  go  to  church." 

"  Oh,  fiddle-faddle,"  said  Mr.  Bull;  "you 
don't  think  I  can  afford  to  let  Watty  be  idle 
while  the  children  go  to  school  ?  such  a  flou- 
rishing business  as  we  are  getting  up — sup- 
plying all  the  country  round  !" 

Mrs.  Bull  did  not  quite  see  why  her  chil- 
dren should  be  made  the  slaves  of  all  the 
country  round,  when  they  might  have  lived 
very  comfortably  by  themselves :  however, 
her  husband  was  hot  upon  his  schemes  of 
making  money,  and  would  not  have  the  chil- 
dren taken  from  their  work  on  any  account ; 
so  the  children  worked  on  from  morning  to 
night,  and  from  one  week's  end  to  another ; 


THE    LAST   OF    THE    GIANTS.  53 

and  Watty  went  on  thumping,  and  bumping, 
and  stunning  them  with  his  incessant  noise  ; 

and  there  was  the  terrible  man  with  the  strap, 

i 

or  sometimes  with  a  great  heavy  roller ;  and 
sometimes  Watty  himself  would  stretch  out 
one  of  his  great  hands — not  meaning  any 
harm,  but  just  to  keep  the  children  awake — 
and  would  twitch  a  handful  of  hair  from 
their  heads.  It  was  a  sad  time  for  the  poor 
children,  and  all  the  family  were  kept  in  a 
bustle.  However,  the  shop  throve,  and  was 
the  wonder  of  the  whole  neighborhood ;  and 
every  body  thought  what  a  thriving  family 
Mr.  Bull's  was,  and  how  rich  he  must  be 
getting  ! 


54  the  child's  favorite. 


CHAPTER   V. 

About  this  time  Mr.  Bull  wanted  to  go  to 
London  on  business,  and  thought  he  might 
indulge  Mrs.  Bull  in  a  trip  to  the  capital, 
which  she  had  never  yet  seen.  So,  as  they 
were  talking  over  the  plan,  "  I  wonder," 
said  Mrs.  Bull,  "how  I  shall  take  all  my 
trunks  and  boxes  !  Don't  you  think  Watty 
would  carry  them  ?  they  will  be  so  long 
going  by  the  canal."  So  Watty  was  sum- 
moned, and  asked  if  he  could  take  the  lug- 
gage, 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    GIANTS.  55 

"Ay,"  said  he ;  "  and  you  and  master  too, 
if  you  like  to  go  -with  me." 

"But  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Bull,  "you 
will  be  a  long  time  about  it." 

"Trust  me  for  that;  you  have  not  seen 
me  with  my  seven-league  boots  on  yet." 

"  Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Bull ;  "have  you  got  a 
pair  of  seven-league  boots  ?  What  a  useful 
giant  you  are !" 

"But  how  shall  we  manage,"  said  Mrs. 
Bull,  apart  to  her  husband,  "when  we  get 
to  London,  and  want  to  go  about  shopping, 
and  visiting  our  friends  !  I  don't  think  it 
would  be  quite  fashionable  to  drive  about 
London  with  Watty.  He  is  rather  an  awk- 
ward servant,  and  might  do  mischief." 

"  Don't  trouble  yourselves,"  said  Watty, 


56  the  child's  favorite. 

who  had  overheard  these  family  difficulties  ; 
"  I'll  take  Thomas  and  the  coachman  too, 
and  the  cook,  and  housekeeper,  and  all  the 
rest  of  them ;  and  what's  more,  I'll  take  the 
horses  into  the  "bargain." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bull  were  quite  delighted 
with  this  arrangement :  so  the  old  coach 
was  brought  out  for  them  to  ride  in,  then 
came  a  van  with  all  the  luggage,  and  the  ser- 
vants got  into  the  tax-cart,  and  the  horses 
were  put  inside  of  the  break.  As  soon  as 
they  were  all  fastened  in  one  long  train, 
"  Now  for  it,  Watty,"  said  Mr.  Bull ;  "  away 
with  you  as  fast  as  you  like;"  and  away 
went  Watty  with  his  seven-league  boots, 
scampering  over  hill  and  dale  like  a  whirl- 
wind. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    GIANTS.  57 

Mrs.  Bull  felt  rather  giddy,  and  almost 
lost  her  breath  at  first;  but  Mr.  Bull,  who 
had  no  fears,  was  quite  elated  at  the  rapidity 
of  the  motion. 

"  Well,'?  said  he,  "  this  is  something  like 
travelling.  I  wonder  how  fast  we  are 
going?"  So  he  took  out  his  watch — "I 
declare,"  said  he,  "  we  went  that  last  mile 
in  less  than  a  minute." 

"  Look  what  a  beautiful  new  church  !" 
said  Mrs.  Bull. 

"Where?"  said  Mr.  Bull,  "I  see  no 
church." 

"  Oh,  you  should  have  turned  your  head 
sooner.  It  was  gone  while  you  were  look- 
ing round." 

"  What    silly   noodles   our    fathers    and 


58  the  child's  favorite. 

grandfathers  must  have  been,"  observed  Mr. 
Bull,  "creeping  along  at  the  rate  of  ten 
miles  an  hour !  What  would  they  have 
thought  of  travelling  in  this  way  ?     Well  I 

do  declare  our  Watty  is- " 

What  Mr.  Bull  would  have  added  is  un- 
certain, for  just  at  that  moment  there  was  a 
crash,  and  a  bang,  and  a  scream,  and  Mr 
and  Mrs.  Bull's  heads  were  violently  knocked 
together.  The  only  wonder  was  that  both 
their  skulls  were  not  fractured. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE   GIANTS.  59 


CHAPTER    VI. 

When  Mr.  Bull  came  to  himself,  he  was 
sensible  of  very  intolerable  pain.  His  limbs 
ached  violently,  his  nose  was  flattened,  one 
eye  was  bandaged  up,  and  the  other  so 
bruised  that  he  could  not  open  it.  He  en- 
deavored to  recover  his  scattered  senses, 
but  could  only  call  up  a  confused  remem- 
brance of  a  journey  to  London,  and  hedges, 
trees,  houses,  windmills,  and  churches,  all 
passing  by  in  rapid  succession.  As  he  lay 
thus  ruminating,  he  heard  a  gentle  sigh ;  and 
managing,  with  difficulty,  to   open  his  eye, 


60  the  child's  favorite. 

he  beheld  Mrs.  Bull  lying  beside  him  in 
much  the  same  predicament  as  himself,  and 
assembled  round  the  bed  were  all  the  little 
Bulls,  thin  and  pale  as  so  many  spectres. 

The  sight  of  this  afflicted  family  brought 
to  Mr.  Bull's  mind  the  circumstances  under 
which  he  was  placed;  and  he  exclaimed,  in 
a  voice  not  loud  but  deep,  "  If  ever  I  get  up 
from  this  bed,  I  will  call  that  rogue  Watty 
to  account." 

"  Oh,  the  villain  Watty  !"  responded  Mrs. 
Bull,  in  a  plaintive  tone. 

"Oh,  the  cruel  giant!"  said  all  the  little 
Bulls  at  once. 

Mr.  Bull  was  as  good  as  his  word.  After 
a  few  weeks  he  was  able  to  leave  his  bed ; 
and,  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  in  his  arm- 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    GIANTS.  61 

chair  by  the  fireside,  with  his  wife  opposite 
to  him,  and  his  family  all  around,  he  sum- 
moned Watty  to  his  presence. 

"A  pretty  trick  you  have  been  playing  us, 
Mr.  Watty,"  said  he,  "to  use  your  master 
and  mistress  in  this  way  !" 

"  A  pretty  trick,  indeed  !"  said  Mrs.  Bull 
and  all  the  little  Bulls. 

"  Why,"  said  Watty,  rather  doggedly, 
"  you  ordered  me  to  go  as  fast  as  I  could — 
and  how  could  I  tell  that  there  was  a  broad- 
wheeled  wagon  in  the  way?" 

Mr.  Bull  could  not  deny  that  it  was  his 
own  fault  for  ordering  Watty  to  go  so  fast. 
"  Well,"  said  he,  "  we  will  take  care  not  to 
go  so  fast  in  future." 

"Very  well,"  said  Watty,  "only  mention 


62  the  child's  favorite. 

at  what  pace  you  wish  to  go,  sir,  and  I  will 
keep  to  it." 

"However,  that's  not  all,"  said  Mr.  Bull, 
sternly.  "  Look  at  these  poor  children. 
Here's  little  Sally's  back  all  black  and  blue, 
and  Tommy's  knees  are  growing  crooked  ; 
and  see  how  thin  they  all  are  !  Are  you  not 
ashamed,  sir,  to  treat  your  master's  children 
in  this  way  ?'* 

"  It  was  not  I,  sir,  that  beat  the  children. 
It  was  Master  Grumpy  that  you  set  over 
them  to  watch  them ;  and  as  to  their  getting 
thin,  you  know  it  was  your  own  self  that 
would  not  let  the  mill  stop." 

Mr.  Bull  groaned,  and  acknowledged  to 
himself  that  it  was  his  own  love  of  money 
that  had  been  the  cause  of  all  this  evil. 


THE    LAST   OF    THE    GIANTS.  63 

"Ah,  Watty,  Watty  !"  said  he,  "  you  have 
plenty  of  excuses.  I  should  not  wonder  if 
you  deny  next  that  it  was  you  that  burnt 
my  toe,  the  first  time  I  saw  that  precious 
face  of  yours." 

"  Why,  sir/'  said  Watty,  grinning,  "  you 
should  not  have  gone  to  sleep  with  your  feet 
on  the  fender." 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  rogue,  you  are  a  rogue," 
said  Mr.  Bull,  shaking  his  head  gravely,  but 
laughing  at  the  same  time  ;  for  he  was  never 
known  to  be  out  of  temper  for  any  length  of 
time. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  "the  long 
and  short  of  it  is  this — that  we  must  come 
to  an  understanding." 

"  You   are  not  going   to  turn  me  off,  I 


64  the  child's  favorite. 

hope  ?"  said  Watty.  "  However,  if  you  do, 
I  daresay  I  can  get  another  place." 

"  Why,  no ;  I  don't  intend  to  turn  you 
off;  you  are  too  useful  for  that ;  but  we 
must  get  into  more  regular  ways.  Next 
time  you  travel  with  me,  or  your  mistress, 
remember  you  are  not  to  go  more  than 
twenty  miles  an  hour." 

«  Very  well,  sir,"  said  Watty. 

"  And  I  shall  not  allow  my  children  to  do 
any  work,"  continued  Mr.  Bull,  "  until  they 
are  twelve  years  of  age,  and  then  only  nine 
hours  a  day,  with  a  whole  holyday  on  Satur- 
day; so  that  they  may  get  some  learning,  and 
be  ready  for  church  on  Sundays." 

."  Very  well,  sir,"  said  Watty. 

"And  I  won't  have  Ned  Carter,  or  any 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    GIANTS.  65 

of  the  laborers  taken  off  their  work  at  the 
farm.  I  don't  think  it's  respectable  to  be 
borrowing  corn  from  one's  neighbors ;  be- 
side, suppose  they  did  not  choose  to  let  us 
have  any — we  should  be  in  a  pretty  way 
then.  So  I  am  determined  to  have  the  farm 
kept  in  proper  cultivation." 

"You  will  not  get  so  much  money  by 
your  farm  as  by  the  factory." 

"Perhaps  not.  But  I  have  lived  long 
enough  in  the  world  to  learn  that  money  is 
not  the  only  thing  to  make  a  man  happy.  A 
wiser  man  than  you  or  I,  Watty,  has  said — 
'  There  is  that  maketh  himself  rich,  yet  hath 
nothing' — and  '  riches  profit  not  in  the  day 
of  wrath.'  I  begin  to  think  that  I  have  been 
over-hasty  to  get  rich,  and  have  reaped  more 


66  the  child's  favorite. 

trouble  than  profit.  Henceforth  I  intend  to 
look  more  to  the  education  and  religious 
instruction  of  my  family;  and  then,  if  God 
gives  us  riches  into  the  bargain,  we  shall 
know  how  to  make  a  good  use  of  them.  So 
now,  Watty,  you  may  go  down  stairs,  and 
leave  me  to  get  a  little  rest." 


"  Thank  you,  thank  you,  papa ;  that  is  a 
capital  story,"  said  all  the  children  at  once, 
as  soon  as  the  tale  of  the  Giant  Atmodes 
was  ended. 

"  Well,  and  do  you  understand  what  it  all 
means?" 

"Yes;  I  think  we  do— most  of  it,"  said 


THE    LAST    OF   THE    GIANTS.  67 

Annie.  "  The  giant  is  meant,  of  course,  to 
represent  the  power  of  steam." 

"  And  how  was  it  first  discovered?" 

"  I  suppose  by  seeing  the  force  with  which 
it  drove  water  out  of  the  spout  of  a  kettle." 

"  Exactly;  and  do  you  know  what  use  it 
was  first  applied  to  ?  Perhaps  not.  It  was 
first  employed  to  pump  water  out  of  coal- 
pits ;  and  after  some  time  it  came  to  be  used 
in  cotton  and  silk  factories ;  and,  at  last,  for 
impelling  boats  and  carriages." 

"  But  is  it  really  true,"  said  little  Mary, 
"that  the  poor  little  children  are  made  to 
work  so  hard,  and  beaten,  and  their  hair 
pulled  off?" 

f*I  am  afraid  it  is  too  true,"  said  Mr. 
B ,  sorrowfully.     "  The  invention  of  the 


68  the  child's  favorite. 

steam-engine,  and  the  great  increase  of  our 
manufactures,  though  it  has  added  to  our 
national  wealth,  has  been  very  far  from  con- 
ducing to  the  comforts  of  the  poor  people 
employed  in  them.  Sometimes,  when  there 
is  a  great  demand  for  goods,  they  have  to 
work  night  and  day  to  provide  them :  then, 
when  the  demand  ceases,  they  have  no 
work  at  all,  and  no  wages,  and  are  almost 
starving." 

"That  is  very  sad." 

"  Another  very  bad  feature  in  the  factory 
system  is,  that  the  children  are  employed  to 
do  the  work,  instead  of  their  parents;  and, 
though  the  work  may  seem  light,  yet  the 
length  of  time  they  are  kept  to  it  is  most 
distressing.     And  then  they  lose  the  oppor- 


THE    LAST   OF    THE    GIANTS.  69 

tunity  of  education,  and  grow  up,  I  am 
afraid,  in  very  bad  ways." 

"But  cannot  any  thing  be  done  to  prevent 
these  evils?"  said  mamma.  "It  does  seem 
very  hard  indeed  that  such  a  number  of  poor 
children  should  be  made  almost  worse  than 
slaves,  in  order  that  we  may  have  fine  clothes, 
and  send  goods  to  other  parts  of  the  world." 

"  It  is  indeed  very  hard,  and  unreasonable; 
and  I  sincerely  hope  that  something  may  be 
done,  before  long,  to  lighten  their  labor,  and 
secure  to  them  the  blessings  of  a  religious 
education  and  a  comfortable  home.  The 
worst  of  it  is,  that  old  John  Bull  is  rather 
selfish  and  headstrong,  and  never  thinks 
about  other  people  when  all  seems  going  on 
prosperously.     Perhaps  one  of  these  days 


70  the  child's  favorite. 

something  will   happen  that  will  make  him 
think  more  seriously." 

This  was  spoken  more  to  mamma  than  to 
the  young  people,  who  did  not  quite  under- 
stand it ;  though  they  were  very  sorry  for  the 
poor  children,  and  hoped  that  something 
might  be  done  for  them. 


THE  CAPTIVE. 


Sweet  little  mistress,  let  me  go, 
Your  little  arms,  they  squeeze  me  so, 
That  in  my  struggle  to  get  free, 
Your  tender  hands  may  wounded  be. 


Indeed  you  know  not  what  you  do, 
I'll  tell  you  all,  and  tell  you  true, 
You're  keeping  me  from  catching  mice, 
To  carry  to  my  bed  so  nice ; 


12  THE    CAPTIVE. 

Where  in  the  sheltering  straw  are  laid 
My  kittens  ;  and  I'm  sore  afraid 
With  hunger  they  are  suffering.     So, 
My  gentle  mistress,  let  me  go. 

But  my  sad  notes  have  touched  your  heart, 
Your  open  hand  bids  me  depart ; 
Blessings  on  thee,  my  mistress  dear, 
My  darlings  have  no  more  to  fear. 


THE  GOVERNESS; 

OR,  PRIDE  WILL  HAVE  A  FALL. 

My  dear  girls,  pride  is  one  of  the  very- 
worst  propensities  of  the  human  heart,  and 
I  am  very  anxious  that  all  who  possess  any 
portion  of  it  should  get  rid  of  it  as  fast  as 
they  can ;  it  is  a  very  common  fault,  for  we 
nearly  all  show  some  traces  of  it  in  early  life, 
till  as  we  grow  older  we  gain  sense  enough, 
and  virtue  enough  to  dismiss  it.  Many,  how- 
ever, are  the  slaves  of  pride  as  they  advance 
0 


74  the  child's  favorite. 

in  age,  and  grow  up  into  bad  and  unamiable 
people. 

Why  I  call  it  one  of  the  worst  of  vices  is, 
because  it  leads  to  so  many  other  sins  and 
often  great  crimes ;  for  pride  is  that  entire 
selfishness,  which  thinks  every  thing  must 
give  way  to  its  wishes,  and  therefore  leads 
its  votaries  to  do  many  wicked  things.  There 
are  different  degrees  of  pride ;  and  many 
people  are  proud  without  being  led  into  posi- 
tive crime  by  it;  but  it  is  always  a  sinful 
feeling,  and  therefore  hateful  in  the  sight  of 
God ;  and  in  the  eyes  of  our  companions,  it 
certainly  renders  us  more  repulsive  than  any 
other  quality  whatever.  For  as  pride  leads 
a  person  to  think  herself  better  than  other 
people,  and  as  we  are  all  inclined  to  pride  in 


THE    GOVERNESS.  75 

some  degree,  of  course  we  naturally  dislike 
those  who  try  to  set  themselves  above  us,  or 
seem  to  think  themselves  so.  There  is  an- 
other consideration  also,  which  shall  lead  us 
to  repress  this  evil  feeling;  it  is  this  :  proud 
people  never  meet  with  any  pity  when  adver- 
sity overtakes  them,  and  sooner  or  later  you 
will  find  the  old  proverb  nearly  always  comes 
true  that,  "  Pride  will  have  a  fall."  The  fol- 
lowing story  is  one  among  the  many  instances 
of  the  kind. 

Mr.  Everett  was  a  gentleman  of  consider- 
able fortune,  and  resided  in  London,  in  one 
of  the  most  fashionable  streets  at  the  west- 
end  of  the  town.  His  father  had  been  a 
merchant  of  eminence  trading  with  India, 
and  the   greater  part  of  his  property  was 


76  the  child's  favorite. 

vested  in  a  large  commercial  firm  in  Cal- 
cutta. Calcutta,  you  know,  is  the  capital  of 
the  British  possessions  in  India.  His  wife 
was  a  lady  of  great  personal  attractions  and 
amiability  of  character;  elegant,  virtuous,  and 
accomplished.  They  had  a  son,  who  died  in 
infancy,  and  their  family  now  consisted  of  but 
one  daughter,  whose  name  was  Frances. 

Frances  Everett,  like  her  mother,  possess- 
ed considerable  beauty ;  she  was  also  a  girl  of 
a  quick  and  intelligent  mind,  and  had  many 
other  good  qualities,  but  they  were  all  ob- 
scured by  an  overweening  pride,  and  great 
haughtiness  of  disposition.  This  evil  propen- 
sity seemed  to  gain  strength  as  she  grew 
older,  instead  of  giving  way  before  the  better 
sense  of  increasing  years ;  to  such  an  extent 


THE    GOVERNESS.  77 

indeed  did  she  carry  it,  that  the  servants 
hated  doing  any  thing  for  her,  and  every  one 
who  visited  the  house  took  a  dislike  to  her. 
She  seemed  to  think  no  one  worth  any  notice 
who  did  not  live  in  a  fine  mansion,  and  keep 
a  splendid  equipage;  and  the  only  person 
she  condescended  to  be  at  all  upon  terms  of 
of  intimacy  with,  was  the  daughter  of  Sir 
George  Selwyn,  a  wealthy  baronet,  who 
lived  in  the  same  street  as  her  father.  This 
Miss  Selwyn  was  another  foolish  girl  like 
herself,  and  the  two  together  encouraged 
each  other  in  their  vain  and  foolish  notions. 
This  evil  disposition  in  their  daughter 
gave  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Everett  much  pain,  and 
they  used  every  means  to  correct  it;  they 
continually  represented  to  her  the  ignorance 


78  the  child's  favorite. 

and  folly  of  so  much  presumption,  as  well  as 
the  wickedness  of  it,  and  endeavored  to 
impress  her  with  the  advantage  of  a  more 
affable  and  gentle  demeanor.  But  all  their 
efforts  were  in  vain,  and  they  at  length 
determined  to  send  her  from  home ;  a  few 
years  of  school  discipline,  they  hoped,  might 
work  a  reformation. 

When  the  proud  young  lady  first  heard 
of  this  intention,  she  flew  into  a  violent  pas- 
sion; she  declared  that  it  was  behaving 
cruelly  towards  her,  and  that  she  would  not 
stop  at  any  boarding-school  to  herd,  as  she 
called  it,  with  all  sorts  of  people's  child- 
ren. Then  she  burst  into  a  violent  flood  of 
tears,  and  used  every  entreaty  to  induce  her 
parents  to  alter  their  resolution ;  but  her  re- 


THE    GOVERNESS.  79 

monstrances  and  entreaties  were  equally  in 
vain.  Her  father  and  mother  were  con- 
vinced it  would  be  for  her  benefit  that  she 
should  go,  and  they  persisted  in  their  deter- 
mination. To  school  accordingly  she  was 
sent. 

As  I  have  said  before,  Frances  was  not 
destitute  of  good  qualities,  and  she  did  not 
want  for  natural  affection.  The  tears  there- 
fore that  she  shed  on  the  day  of  her  departure 
from  home,  were  not  all  tears  of  passion, 
although  some  were,  for  she  really  loved  her 
father  and  mother  fondly,  and  was  deeply 
grieved  at  parting  from  them  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life.  This  fondness,  however, 
would  have  led  a  good  child  to  follow  their 
instructions,    and   submit  patiently  to  their 


80  the  child's  favorite. 

wishes,  but  I  am  sorry  to  say  love  for  her 
parents,  in  the  case  of  Frances  Everett,  did 
not  have  this  effect.  She  was  still  obstinate 
in  her  pride ;  and  she  inwardly  resolved  to 
make  herself  as  disagreeable  as  possible  at 
school,  by  which  means  she  also  hoped  she 
might  be  kept  at  home  again. 

The  school  in  which  Frances  was  placed 
was  a  highly  respectable  one;  and  Mrs. 
Thelwall,  the  principal,  was  an  excellent  and 
worthy  lady.  She  was  the  widow  of  a  clergy- 
man who  left  behind  him  but  little  property, 
and  with  the  assistance  of  her  friends  she  had 
established  a  seminary ;  she  was  in  every  way 
qualified  for  the  important  and  respectable 
situation  of  an  instructress  of  youth;  and 
Grassmere  House,  the  name  of  her  establish- 


THE    GOVERNESS.  81 

ment,  was  celebrated  for  the  proficiency  and 
good  conduct  of  its  pupils. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Everett,  in  placing  their 
daughter  under  the  care  of  Mrs.  Thelwall, 
had  explained  to  that  lady  their  motives 
for  putting  her  to  school.  She  listened  with 
great  attention  to  the  instances  recounted  of 
her  new  pupil's  pride,  and  promised  to  direct 
her  efforts,  mainly,  to  the  correction  of  so 
bad  a  fault.  She  treated  Frances  with  the 
same  kindness  as  she  did  the  rest  of  her 
scholars ;  but  she  never  failed  to  correct  her 
when  she  found  it  necessary. 

This  unfortunately  was  very  often ;  Miss 
Everett  was  always  getting  into  trouble  with 
some  of  her  young  companions;  and  as  it 
was  nearly  always  on  account  of  the  airs  and 


82  the  Child's  favorite. 

graces  she  gave  herself,  she  met  with  fre- 
quent reprimands.  Even  the  governesses 
she  would  constantly  treat  with  the  greatest 
scorn;  and  it  was  only  for  Mrs.  Thelwall 
herself  that  she  preserved  the  least  appear- 
ance o/  respect.  The  frequency  of  the  repro- 
vals  she  thus  subjected  herself  to,  made  her 
think  that  she  was  treated  with  harshness, 
and  she  began  to  hate  school  more  than 
ever. 

Mrs.  Thelwall  was  very  sorry  to  see  how 
unsuccessful  all  her  efforts  were  to  correct 
the  besetting  sin  of  her  new  pupil.  She  was 
the  more  grieved  because  she  found  her 
talents  to  be  really  considerable,  and  that  she 
wanted  nothing  but  an  amiable  disposition 
to  make  her  an  ornament  to  society.     Pre- 


THE    GOVERNESS.  83 

vious  to  leaving  home  she  had  made  good 
progress  in  her  learning  ;  and  now  with  in- 
dustry she  promised  to  be  a  clever  and 
accomplished  girl.  But  the  task  of  curing 
her  of  her  silly  and  offensive  pride  seemed  a 
hopeless  one. 

Mrs.  Everett  had  kept  up  a  frequent  cor- 
respondence with  Mrs.  Thelwall,  and  both 
herself  and  her  husband  had  heard  with  deep 
regret  that  no  improvement  had  taken  place 
in  their  daughter's  disposition.  Indeed,  Mrs. 
Thelwall,  in  her  last  letter,  had  told  her  that 
she  feared  nothing  but  some  sudden  and 
severe  misfortune  to  Frances  would  bow  her 
stubborn  and  haughty  spirit.  The  anxious 
parents,  therefore,  began  once  more  to  dis- 
cuss what  the  best  method  would  be  of  pro- 


84  the  child's  favorite. 

ceeding  with  her,  and  it  was  resolved  to  have 
her  home  again,  and  see  what  her  mother's 
earnest  exhortations  would  do,  joined  to  the 
instructions  of  a  firm  but  amiable  governess. 

Accordingly,  after  spending  a  year  and  a 
half  at  Grassmere  House,  Frances  returned 
to  the  parental  roof.  Her  mother  took  an 
early  opportunity  to  inform  her  that  she  did 
not  intend  to  send  her  to  school  again,  and 
to  lecture  her  seriously  upon  her  haughty 
disposition.  She  pointed  out  to  her  the  sin- 
ful nature  of  pride,  under  all  circumstances ; 
but  especially  of  that  ridiculous  feeling  which 
she  possessed — the  pride  of  wealth. 

"  To  be  proud  of  superior  mental  endow- 
ments," she  said,  "  was  sinful  and  foolish 
enough,  for  we  are  not  indebted  to  ourselves 


THE    GOVERNESS.  85 

for  them ;  but  to  be  proud  of  mere  worldly- 
weal  th,  which  a  reverse  of  fortune  may 
deprive  you  of  in  a  moment,  is  absurd  in  the 
extreme,  and  is  sure  to  bring  down  the  con- 
tempt of  all  who  know  you.  You,  in  com- 
mon with  all  human  beings,  are  subject  to 
such  reverses ;  think  then  what  your  feelings 
would  be  were  you  treated  with  the  same 
contempt  you  now  treat  others.  If  you 
have  any  just  reason  to  be  proud,  I,  as  your 
mother,  and  therefore  your  superior,  must  of 
course  have  a  still  better  reason ;  but  you  do 
not  find  me  behave  towards  people  in  the 
same  way  that  you  do,  and  do  you  see  that  I 
am  the  less  loved,  or  the  less  respected  for 
it?  No,  my  child!  but  the  contrary.  Think 
then,  Frances,  of  what  I  say  to  you  ;  lay  it 


86  the  child's  favorite. 

to  heart,  and  if  you  would  not  provoke  the 
wrath  of  your  Maker,  and  the  contempt  of 
your  fellow-creatures,  dismiss  from  your 
heart  this  blot  upon  your  disposition." 

This,  and  much  more  to  the  same  effect, 
did  the  good  and  sensible  Mrs.  Everett 
endeavor  to  impress  upon  her  daughter's 
mind.  Frances,  as  I  have  said  before,  was 
not  without  some  good  points  in  her  cha- 
racter, and  she  seemed  for  a  time  to  feel  her 
mother's  earnest  address;  but  pride  had 
become  so  much  a  habit  with  her  that  it  pro- 
duced no  permanent  effect. 

The  first  governess  selected  by  Mrs.  Eve- 
rett to  superintend  the  remainder  of  her 
daughter's  education,  was  a  young  widow- 
lady  named  Martin.     She  was  a  woman  of 


THE    GOVERNESS.  87 

sense  and  spirit,  and  Mrs.  Everett  took  care 
to  explain  to  her  the  principal  fault  she  would 
have  to  contend  with  in  the  character  of  her 
pupil.  Frances  learned  what  was  set  before 
her  readily  enough  ;  but  her  demeanor  to- 
wards Mrs.  Martin  was  as  offensive  as  it  had 
been  to  others. 

This  lady  put  up  with  it  for  some  time, 
and  endeavored,  by  strong  remonstrances, 
to  correct  it.  She,  however,  found  the  task 
too  disagreeable  to  continue  it  long,  and  one 
morning,  after  a  speech  of  unpardonable 
insolence  from  Frances,  she  entered  Mrs. 
Everett's  room,  and  told  her  that  really  the 
treatment  she  met  with  from  Miss  Everett 
was  so  insufferable,  that  she  must,  for  the 
future,  decline  the   office  of  instructress  to 


88  the  child's  favorite. 

her.  Mrs.  Everett  was  very  sorry  for  this, 
for  she  had  a  great  regard  for  Mrs.  Martin ; 
hut  she  could  not  wonder  at  it,  for  she  had 
herself  seen  instances  of  her  daughter's  dis- 
respectful treatment  of  her  teacher,  and  had 
had  to  reprove  her  for  it. 

About  this  time,  an  old  acquaintance  of 
Mr.  Everett's,  a  naval  officer,  died,  leaving 
nothing  behind  him  but  a  spotless  reputation 
and  an  orphan  daughter.  Miss  Champion,  for 
such  was  her  name,  who  had  been  brought 
up  in  comfort,  was  thrown  upon  the  world  to 
get  her  own  living.  She  was  an  amiable  and 
well-educated  girl,  in  her  twentieth  year; 
and  Mrs.  Everett,  hearing  of  her  situation, 
was  anxious  to  offer  her  an  asylum.  She 
thought,  too,  that  Frances  might  be  induced 


THE    GOVERNESS.  89 

to  pay  her  more  respect  as  a  governess,  from 
the  knowledge  that  her  own  father,  and  the 
father  of  Miss  Champion,  had  been  on  terms 
of  friendship.  This  young  lady  was  accord- 
ingly installed  in  the  office  vacated  by  Mrs. 
Martin. 

The  new  governess  was  treated  with  the 
greatest  kindness  by  both  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Everett,  who  did  every  thing  they  could  to 
lighten  her  grief  for  her  loss ;  this  did  not 
fail  to  inspire  the  poor  girl  with  feelings  of 
the  deepest  gratitude ;  and  she  looked  for- 
ward to  a  more  peaceful  and  happy  home 
than  she  had  at  first  any  reason  to  expect. 
Her  gentleness  and  amiability,  too,  won  upon 
every  one,  and  even  the  servants  treated  her 


90  the  child's  favorite. 

with  as  much  respect  and  kindness  as  if  she 
had  heen  one  of  the  family. 

Frances  was  the  only  person  whom  Miss 
Champion's  pleasing  qualities  failed  to  soften 
and  to  win ;  she  alone  made  her  feel  the  bit- 
terness of  her  change  of  circumstances.  This 
proud  and  haughty  girl  possessed  the  greatest 
contempt  for  every  one,  who  had  to  get  their 
own  living ;  and  for  governesses  in  particular, 
she  seemed  to  feel  more  than  usual  scorn. 
Silly  girl  that  she  was  !  she  did  not  then 
know,  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  good  and  sensi- 
ble, the  most  useful  and  respectable  members 
of  society  are  those  who  contribute  towards 
the  general  stock  of  labor.  She  was  also 
growing  old  enough  now,  as  she  thought,  to 


THE    GOVERNESS.  91 

do  without  a  governess  altogether  ;  and  she 
looked  upon  Miss  Champion  as  a  poor, 
dependent  creature,  whom  her  mother  kept 
more  out  of  charity  than  any  thing  else. 

These  feelings  led  her  to  behave  towards 
her  new  instructress  even  more  contemptu- 
ously than  towards  her  late  one.  She  took 
every  opportunity  of  showing  how  superior 
she  considered  herself  in  rank ;  and  poor 
Miss  Champion  soon  found  her  situation  any 
thing  but  a  pleasant  one.  She  continued, 
however,  to  bear  with  it  for  a  long  while,  out 
of  gratitude  to  her  pupil's  parents;  but  Mrs. 
Everett  observing  that  she  was  not  happy, 
at  last  procured  her  another  situation,  where 
she  found  herself  much  happier. 

Frances  was  now  considered  to  be  suffi 


92  the  child's  favorite. 

ciently  advanced  in  her  studies,  as  to  require 
no  longer  the  care  of  a  governess ;  she  was 
nearly  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  from  her 
good  natural  abilities  was  well  versed  in  the 
leading  branches  of  female  education.  She 
still  took  lessons  in  music,  singing,  and  draw- 
ing, but  for  these  she  had  masters.  No  new 
preceptress  was  therefore  provided  for  her. 

Accordingly,  she  had  plenty  of  time  to 
devote  to  the  fashionable  amusements  of  the 
day;  dress,  the  opera,  the  parks,  balls,  and 
routs,  occupied  all  her  thoughts.  At  these 
Miss  Selwyn  was  her  constant  companion, 
and  the  two  haughty  girls  scarcely  deigned 
to  notice  any  acquaintance  whose  father  could 
not  write  Sir  or  Lord  before  his  name. 

Things  went  on  in  this  way  for  about  three 


THE    GOVERNESS.  93 

years ;  and  the  pride  of  Frances  Everett 
was  at  its  height,  when  a  sudden  stop  was 
put  to  her  dashing  career.  The  property  of 
Mr.  Everett,  I  have  already  told  you,  was  in 
the  hands  of  a  mercantile  house  in  Calcutta ; 
and  one  morning  he  received  the  dreadful 
news,  that  the  firm  had  failed,  and  that  he 
was  a  ruined  man. 

This  was  a  terrible  blow  to  Frances; 
directly  she  was  informed  of  it  by  her  father, 
she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  him,  and  looked  as  if 
scarcely  able  to  comprehend  his  meaning.  A 
moment  afterwards  it  seemed  as  though  a 
consciousness  of  all  she  would  have  to  sacri- 
fice broke  in  upon  her  mind,  and  she  became 
the  image  of  utter  despair.  Tears  soon  came 
to  her  relief,  and  she  burst  into  an  uncon- 


94  THE    CHILD  S    FAVORITE. 

trollable  fit  of  sorrow ;  her  father  tried  to 
reason  her  into  calmness,  although  scarcely 
equal  to  the  task,  for  he  himself  felt  his  loss 
most  keenly.  Frances,  however,  was  incon- 
solable, for  she  now  felt  in  all  its  bitterness, 
the  truth  of  the  proverb  that  "  Pride  will 
have  a  fall." 

But  this  was  not  all,  severer  trials  were 
yet  in  store  for  her.  Mr.  Everett  was,  at 
the  time,  laboring  under  a  complaint  which, 
although  not  immediately  serious  in  itself, 
was  liable  to  be  increased  by  any  extraordi- 
nary excitement;  grief  for  his  reverse  of 
fortune  was  more  than  sufficient  to  cause  this 
excitement,  and  in  a  few  weeks  from  the  date 
of  his  misfortune,  he  died  :  his  wife,  who 
was  devotedly  attached  to  him,  was  broken- 


THE    GOVERNESS.  95 

hearted  by  her  double  loss.  In  less  than  a 
year  she  joined  her  husband  in  the  grave, 
and  Frances  was  reduced  to  the  same  deso- 
late condition  as  the  orphan  girl,  who  had 
been  introduced  into  her  father's  house  as 
her  governess,  and  whom  she  had  looked 
down  upon  with  so  much  contempt.  A 
thought  of  this  kind  sometimes  struck  Fran- 
ces, and  she  had  more  than  once  felt  repent- 
ance for  having  treated  poor  Miss  Champion 
with  so  much  unkindness. 

The  condition  of  the  once  proud  and 
dashing  Miss  Everett  was  now  wretched  in 
the  extreme ;  many  were  the  mortifications 
she  had  had  to  endure  since  the  change  in 
her  father's  circumstances.  She  had  met 
Miss  Selwyn  three  or  four  times  in  the  street 


96  the  child's  favorite. 

while  walking ;  but  that  young  lady,  once  so 
friendly  with  her,  had  passed  her  on  each 
occasion  with  a  cold  stare ;  some  of  the 
young  companions  of  her  prosperous  days, 
whom  she  had  then  hardly  condescended  to 
notice,  even  went  farther,  and  turned  up  their 
noses  as  they  passed  her,  with  scorn.  This 
was  very  wrong  and  cruel ;  but  it  is  what 
such  people  as  Frances  Everett  subject 
themselves  to,  and  they  have  no  right  to 
complain ;  indeed,  although  every  one  who 
knew  them  pitied  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Everett,  all 
alike  regarded  the  fall  of  the  daughter  as  a 
just  retribution  for  her  excessive  pride. 

Frances  had  felt  most  acutely  the  loss  of 
her  father;  but  now  that  her  mother  was 
also   taken   from   her,   her   grief  knew  no 


THE    GOVERNESS.  97 

bounds.  She  was  indeed  effectually  humbled, 
and  broken  spirited;  for  days  she  did  nothing 
but  weep  and  sigh  continually;  and  even 
those  who  had  been  most  wounded  by  her 
scorn  in  former  times,  would  have  pitied  her 
if  they  could  have  seen  her  misery  on  the 
day  her  mother's  remains  were  committed  to 
the  tomb,  and  shut  for  ever  from  her  sight. 

Two  or  three  friends  had  still  clung  to 
Mrs.  Everett  in  spite  of  her  misfortunes;  and 
when  the  last  sad  duties  were  paid  to  her, 
they  began  to  think  of  what  would  become  of 
the  daughter.  The  poor  girl  was  now  almost 
in  a  state  of  destitution ;  and  it  was  abso- 
lutely necessary  that  something  should  be 
done  for  her.  Accordingly  it  was  thought 
that  the  situation  of  a  governess  would  be 


98  the  child's  favorite. 

the  best  thing  for  her,  as  she  had  received  a 
good  education;  and  as  one  of  the  parties 
knew  a  lady  who  then  wanted  one,  it  was 
resolved  to  propose  it  to  Frances. 

It  seemed  a  terrible  humiliation  that  the 
once  scornful  Miss  Everett  should  be  re- 
duced to  the  necessity  of  filling  the  situation 
of  a  governess,  an  office  she  had  formerly 
regarded  with  so  much  contempt ;  but  poor 
Frances  was  much  changed.  Severe  and 
bitter  as  her  misfortunes  had  been,  they  at 
least  produced  one  good  result.  The  blow 
which  Mrs.  Thelwall  had  spoken  of,  as  ne- 
cessary to  cure  her  of  her  pride,  had  fallen 
upon  her,  and  it  had  cured  her.  She  Lad 
often,  during  the  latter  days  of  her  mother, 
confessed  to    her  her  former   errors,    and 


THE    GOVERNESS.  99 

expressed  her  regret  for  them  ;  and  then  she 
would  go  down  upon  her  knees  before  her 
Maker,  and  with  tears  of  repentance  in  her 
eyes,  ask  of  him  pardon  for  the  past,  and  an 
improved  disposition  for  the  future. 

Accordingly,  when  her  friends  made  their 
proposal  to  her,  she  acceded  to  it  willingly 
and  gratefully,  and  in  about  a  fortnight's 
time  she  was  introduced  to  her  new  scene  of 
action.  Her  pupils  wrere  two  little  girls,  the 
one  six  and  the  other  five  years  of  age.  They 
were  pretty,  interesting,  and  affectionate 
children,  and  soon  became  much  attached  to 
her ;  for  having  subdued  her  pride,  the  good 
qualities  of  her  disposition  were  no  longer 
obscured,  and  she  was  now  as  gentle,  as  she 
had  once  been  haughty. 


100  THE    CHILD  S    FAVORITE. 

But  poor  Frances  had  yet  to  endure  many 
mortifications.  Mrs.  Hamlin,  the  lady  into 
whose  family  she  had  entered,  was  the  wife 
of  a  rich  banker,  and  was  purse-proud,  im- 
perious, and  passionate.  She  had  not  the 
good  sense  and  the  good  feeling  to  know, 
that  the  instructress  of  her  children  ought 
to  be  treated  with  every  respect ;  and  the 
little  indignities  she  would  put  upon  Frances 
often  cut  her  to  the  heart.  It  led  her  to 
think,  too,  of  what  the  feelings  of  those  must 
have  been  she  used  once  to  treat  in  the  same 
manner ;  and  fresh  tears  of  penitence  would 
flow  at  the  reflection.  She  bore  every  thing, 
however,  with  great  patience  and  resignation, 
and  the  endearing  ways  of  her  little  pupils 
would  often  soothe  her  amidst  her  trouble. 


THE    GOVERNESS.  101 

There  was  one  thing  among  others  that 
Mrs.  Hamlin  very  much  disliked,  and  that 
was  to  see  any  particular  attention  paid  to 
her  governess;  the  misfortunes  of  Frances 
had  impaired  none  of  her  beauty;  on  the 
contrary,  they  had  imparted  a  mournful  in- 
terest to  her  features  which  rather  increased 
it.  She  was  still,  therefore,  a  handsome, 
elegant,  and  accomplished  girl,  and  the  gen- 
tlemen who  visited  the  house  would  fre- 
quently pay  her  such  little  attentions  as  are 
common  in  society ;  this  Mrs.  Hamlin  took 
every  opportunity  to  repress. 

Upon  one  occasion  she  was  sitting  at  the 
dinner-table,  silent  and  reserved,  when  a  gen- 
tleman present  observing  her,  and  thinking 
she  seemed  neglected,  politely  asked  her  to 


10.2  the  child's  favorite. 

take  wine.  He  had  scarcely  finished  speaking 
when  Mrs.  Hamlin  interposed;  and  hefore 
Frances  could  answer  for  herself  she  rudely 
and  vulgarly  said, 

"  Oh  !  Miss  Everett  does  not  take  wine." 
The  blood  rose  to  the  cheeks  of  the  poor 
girl  at  the  insult,  but  she  was  obliged  to  bear 
it  in  silence. 

At  another  time  a  small  party  of  friends 
were  assembled  at  the  house  ;  on  such  occa- 
sions the  musical  talents  of  Frances  wrere 
greatly  in  request;  but  Mrs.  Hamlin  gene- 
rally took  care  to  make  her  feel  the  differ- 
ence between  her  situation  and  that  of  the 
visitors ;  and  that  it  was  not  as  one  of  the 
party,  but  as  a  person  paid  for  it,  that  she 
was  called  upon  to  entertain  the   company. 


THE    GOVERNESS.  103 

Frances  had  been  asked  to  play  one  of  the 
beautiful  pieces  with  which  she  had  so  often 
delighted  her  listeners.  A  gentlemanly 
young  man,  a  nephew  of  Mrs.  Hamlin,  was 
one  of  the  party,  and  he  immediately  rose  to 
conduct  her  to  the  instrument;  he  did  so, 
but  upon  resuming  his  seat,  his  aunt  said  to 
him,  in  a  voice  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by 
all  present : 

"  Miss  Everett  can  in  future  find  her  way 
to  the  piano  without  your  assistance,  sir." 

These,  and  many  similar  mortifications,  at 
last  made  poor  Frances  so  unhappy,  that  she 
began  to  think  of  changing  her  situation; 
but  she  did  not  like  to  throw  up  what  the 
kindness  of  her  friends  had  procured  her, 
and  she  was  undecided  as  to  what  to  do  ; 


104  the  child's  favorite. 

she  was  in  this  state  of  mind,  and  had  been 
with  Mrs.  Hamlin  for  nearly  a  year  and  a 
half,  when  one  morning  she  received  a  letter 
from  the  country.  She  gazed  upon  it  with 
surprise,  wondering  who  it  could  come  from, 
and  then  opening  it  read  as  follows : 

"  My  dear  Miss  Everett, 
"  Do  not  mistake  the  motives  which 
prompt  me  to  write  to  you ;  I  am  influenced, 
I  assure  you,  only  by  the  most  affectionate 
solicitude.  I  always  entertained  the  greatest 
respect  and  regard  for  your  dear  mother  and 
your  father  also.  I  shall  never  cease  to 
remember  with  gratitude  all  their  kindness 
towards  me ;  and  any  little  pang  which  my 
volatile  and  high-spirited  pupil,  their  daugh- 


THE    GOVERNESS.  105 

ter,  may  have  caused  me  to  feel,  has  long 
since  been  forgotten.  It  is  only  within  the 
last  few  days  that  I  have  heard  of  the 
severe  afflictions  which  have  befallen  you, 
and  most  deeply  and  sincerely  do  I  sym- 
pathize with  you  in  the  irreparable  loss  you 
have  sustained. 

"'"I  know  not,  my  dear  girl,  what  your 
present  engagements  may  be,  but  I  long 
to  make  some  return  to  the  daughter  for 
the  benefits  I  have  received  at  the  hands 
of  the  parents.  Indeed  it  is  to  them  I 
owe  all  my  present  happiness.  Will  you 
come  then  and  share  it  with  me,  and  enjoy 
with  me  the  delights  of  a  country  life  ?  I 
am   no    longer    Miss    Champion ;    but   my 

husband   will  be  as  glad   to   welcome   you 

8 


106  the  child's  favorite. 

as  I  shall.  Come  then,  and  be  to  me  that 
which  I  have  so  often  ardently  wished  to 
possess — a  sister. 

"  Ever  your's  affectionately, 

"Emily  Langton." 

"  P.  S.  I  have  two  sweet  little  children,  a 
boy  and  a  girl,  whom  I  shall  teach  to  love 
you — so  do  not  refuse  me.  Mr.  Langton  will 
have  occasion  to  go  to  London  soon  upon 
business,  and  I  shall  accompany  him.  When 
we  arrive,  which  will  be  in  about  a  week, 
I  will  write  to  you  again  that  we  may  meet. 

"E.  L." 

Upon  reading  this  letter,  Frances  was 
overwhelmed  with  mingled  feelings  of  de- 
light,   admiration,   and    gratitude.      It   was 


THE    GOVERNESS.  107 

so  noble  and  generous,  she  thought,  of  her 
former  instructress  to  forgive  all  the  con- 
temptuous treatment  she  had  met  with  from 
her  haughty  pupil.  The  manner  in  which 
she  had  written  too,  was  so  delicate,  so 
beautiful,  so  touching — especially  at  the  con- 
clusion of  her  letter;  and  Frances,  once  so 
proud,  now  felt  that  it  would  be  a  pleasure 
to  lie  under  an  obligation  to  so  good  and 
excellent  a  woman,  as  the  formerly  despised 
governess. 

She  wrote  to  her  in  the  overflow  of  a 
grateful  and  purified  heart,  giving  her  an 
account  of  the  latter  years  of  her  life,  and 
of  her  penitent  and  altered  character.  Mrs. 
Langton  was  affected,  even  to  tears,  by  the 
letter  of  Frances,  for  there  were  in  it  many 


108  the  child's  favorite. 

expressions  of  bitter  self-reproach  in  refer- 
ence to  her  past  conduct ;  but  she  was  over- 
joyed at  this  proof  of  her  reformation,  for  she 
now  felt  that  the  daughter  of  her  benefactress 
was  indeed  worthy  of  being  loved  for  herself 
alone. 

She  arrived  in  town  soon  afterwards  with 
her  husband,  and  an  interview  of  the  most 
affecting  nature  took  place  between  the 
friends.  Frances  was  then  introduced  to 
Mr.  Langton,  whom  she  found  to  be  a  most 
agreeable,  polished,  and  amiable  man.  He 
possessed  an  independent  fortune,  and  had 
been  a  visitor  at  the  house  where  Miss 
Champion  had  last  filled  the  situation  of 
governess.  Struck  with  the  superiority  of 
her   manners,  her  talents,  and  her  amiable 


THE    GOVERNESS.  -     109 

disposition,  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  her, 
and  married  her.  They  had  then  retired  to 
Langton  Hall,  his  seat  in  the  north  of  Eng- 
land, where  they  had  since  lived  in  compara- 
tive seclusion,  happy  in  each  other's  society. 

It  was  through  a  friend  of  Mr.  Langton's 
on  a  visit  from  London,  that  Mrs.  Langton 
first  heard  of  the  misfortunes  of  the  Eve- 
retts;  she  then  immediately  spoke  to  her 
husband  upon  the  subject,  and  wrote  to 
Frances  the  letter  which  has  been  given. 

Few  words  were  necessary  between  the 
friends,  and  it  was  soon  arranged  that 
Frances  should  take  up  her  abode  at  Lang- 
ton Hall.  Here  amidst  the  sylvan  beauties 
and  quiet  seclusion  of  the  place,  and  in  the 
affectionate  friendship  of  Mrs.  Langton,  she 


110  THE   CHILD'S   FAVORITE. 

found  a  balm  for  all  her  sorrows,  and  she 
felt  within  herself  that  she  was  in  every 
respect  a  wiser,  better,  and  happier  girl  than 
she  had  been  in  the  height  of  her  prosperity. 
She  only  wished  her  dear  parents  were  alive 
to  witness  the  full  extent  of  her  reformation; 
her  poor  father  especially,  for  her  mother 
had  lived  to  see  a  great  improvement  in  her 
character. 

The  children,  as  Mrs.  Langton  had  pro- 
mised, became  very  much  attached  to  Frances 
in  a  very  short  time,  and  she  insisted  upon 
taking  their  education  more  particularly  under 
her  charge.  It  was  one  of  the  happiest  house- 
holds in  the  kingdom  ;  the  two  friends  lived 
like  sisters,  and  were  frequently  taken  for 
such  by  strangers.     At  last  they  became  as 


THE    GOVERNESS.  Ill 

nearly  sisters  as  it  was  possible  for  them  to 
become.  Mr.  Henry  Langton,  a  younger 
brother  of  Mr.  Langton's,  who  often  visited 
the  house,  was  so  much  impressed  with  the 
beauty,  the  amiability,  and  the  history  of 
Frances,  that  he  offered  her  his  hand  and 
heart,  and  in  about  a  year  from  her  taking 
up  her  residence  at  Langton  Hall,  they  were 
united  together  by  the  sacred  rites  of  the 
church. 

The  union  was  a  most  happy  one,  and 
Frances  never  ceased  to  feel  grateful  to  her 
Heavenly  Father  for  the  afflictions  with 
which  he  had  visited  her;  for  it  was  to 
them  that  she  owed  her  present  amiability 
of  character,  her  peace  of  mind,  and  her 
happiness. 


MADAME    ROLAND. 


A  revolution  is  a  great  change  in  the 
government  of  a  country.  There  was  a 
very  great  one  in  England  in  the  time  of 
Charles  I.,  nearly  two  hundred  years  ago, 
when  that  unfortunate  king  was  beheaded ; 
and  a  system  of  government  called  the  Com- 
monwealth, was  established.  The  famous 
Oliver  Cromwell,  you  will  remember,  was 
the  chief  person  in  it. 

Well,  something  very  like  this  occurred  in 


M-AliAMK     ROI.ANW 


MADAME    ROLAND.  113 

France  about  fifty  years  ago.  The  cause 
was  this.  The  country  had  been  very  badly 
governed  for  a  long  while,  and  the  kings  and 
nobles  had  oppressed  the  poor  people  in  the 
most  cruel  manner.  At  last  they  could  bear 
it  no  longer,  and  so  they  beheaded  their  king, 
as  the  English  had  done  before.  This  king, 
however,  who  was  Louis  XVI.,  was  not  a  bad 
man;  but  the  people  were  furious,  and  they 
wanted  to  have  a  commonwealth  also,  or  a 
Republic  as  it  was  called. 

After  the  people  had  cut  off  the  king's 
head,  they  served  a  great  many  of  the  nobles 
in  the  same  way.  But  even  this  did  not 
content  them.  They  grew  more  fierce  and 
cruel,  the  more  blood  they  shed ;  and  they 
began  to  kill  every  one  whom  they  thought 


114  THE    CHILD'S    FAVORITE. 

at  all  favorable  to  the  former  mode  of  govern- 
ment. By  degrees,  a  more  brutal  and  op- 
pressive tyranny  was  established  than  had 
ever  been  exercised  before,  even  by  the  worst 
of  tyrants.  The  foremost  actors  in  these 
wicked  scenes,  were  three  bad  and  blood- 
thirsty men,  whose  names  were  Robespierre, 
Danton,  and  Marat;  and  all  of  whom  were 
killed  in  their  turn. 

Among  the  victims  of  this  dreadful  time 
was  Madame  Roland.  Her  name  before  she 
was  married  to  Monsieur  Roland,  was  Manon 
Jeanne  Phlipon.  She  was  born  at  Paris  in 
the  year  1754,  and  was  the  daughter  of  an 
engraver  and  jeweller.  Her  mother,  wrho 
was  a  most  excellent  woman,  brought  her 
up  in  the  most  admirable  manner  ;  and  such 


MADAME    ROLAND.  115 

was  the  good  behaviour  of  Madame  Roland 
as  a  child,  that  Madame  Phlipon  would  often 
say  that  Manon  was  the  only  one  of  her 
children  that  had  never  caused  her  a  mo- 
ment's sorrow  or  regret.  She  was  very 
clever  too,  and  neat  and  elegant  in  her 
appearance ;  and  these  qualities,  although 
nothing  without  virtue,  being  united  to  a 
good  disposition  in  Manon,  gave  her  parents 
increased  pleasure. 

Her  eagerness  to  learn  was  so  great,  that 
nothing  came  amiss  to  her.  She  learned 
Latin ;  and  masters  for  geography,  writing, 
music,  and  drawing,  were  also  provided  for 
her.  Riding  also  was  one  of  her  ac- 
complishments. Amidst  all  this  she  still 
found   time   for  he**    other  lessons,  and  for 


116  THE    CHILD'S    FAVORITE. 

reading.  She  would  rise  at  five  o'clock, 
when  everybody  else  in  the  house  was  asleep, 
and  creep  softly  into  her  mother's  room,  in  a 
corner  of  which  stood  a  table  with  her  books. 
Here  she  would  sit,  and  either  read  or  repeat 
and  copy  her  lessons,  with  the  greatest  in- 
dustry. This  diligence,  and  her  rapid  pro- 
gress, made  her  a  great  favorite  with  her 
masters,  and  they  felt  a  double  pleasure  in 
teaching  her. 

When  she  was  about  sixteen  years  of  age 
she  lost  her  mother.  This  was  a  great  grief 
to  her.  It  threw  her  into  a  serious  fit  of  ill- 
ness, and  for  some  time  her  life  was  despaired 
of.  Youth,  and  a  good  constitution,  how- 
ever, enabled  her  to  recover.  To  add  to  her 
misfortune,  her  father  became  dissipated  in 


MADAME    ROLAND.  117 

his  habits,  and  squandered  a  great  deal  of 
his  own,  and  his  daughter's  property.  But 
she  contrived  to  save  a  portion  of  it;  and 
with  this  she  retired  into  a  convent.  Here 
she  remained  in  retirement  till  her  marriage 
with  Monsieur  Roland. 

Monsieur  Roland  was  an  honest  and  up- 
right man ;  he  was  also  a  clever  man,  and 
devotedly  attached  to  his  wife.  At  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Revolution,  before  the  people 
became  so  violent,  the  King  chose  him  for 
one  of  his  Ministers  of  State  ;  but  in  the 
changes  of  those  unsettled  times  his  situation, 
in  a  few  months,  was  given  to  some  one  else. 
Soon  after  this,  the  poor  king's  head  was 
struck  off.  The  moderate  party,  to  which 
Monsieur  Roland  belonged,  had  done  what 


118  THE    CHILD'S    FAVORITE. 

they  could  to  prevent  it,  but  it  was  of  no  use. 
The  republican  party  had  appointed  him 
minister  again ;  but  he  was  a  great  deal  too 
mild  and  honest  for  the  cruel  people  then  in 
power,  and  many  threats  were  uttered,  and 
plots  formed,  to  take  away  his  life. 

Monsieur  and  Madame  Roland  were,  ac- 
cordingly, in  a  good  deal  of  fear,  and  their 
friends  persuaded  them  to  leave  their  home 
every  night,  lest  they  should  be  surprised 
during  sleep  Two  or  three  times  they  did 
this,  but  they  soon  got  tired  of  removing 
every  day,  so  they  resolved  to  brave  all  risks 
and  stop  at  home.  Madame  Roland  always 
remained  with  her  husband,  that  she  might 
share  his  danger  ;  and  she  kept  a  pistol  under 
her  pillow,  to  save  herself  from  the-  attacks 


MADAME    ROLAND.  119 

of  assassins.  In  this  situation  they  passed 
three  weeks,  during  which  their  residence 
was  twice  beset. 

At  length,  about  half-past  five  o'clock  one 
evening,  six  armed  men  appeared  at  their 
house,  and  one  of  them  read  an  order  from 
some  of  the  Revolutionists  to  arrest  Mon- 
sieur Roland.  The  warrant,  however,  was 
an  illegal  one,  and  he  refused  to  obey  it.  So 
the  man  went  away  to  get  further  orders, 
leaving  the  others  as  a  guard. 

Madame  Roland,  with  the  courage  of  an 
ancient  Roman  heroine,  thought  it  would  be 
best  to  denounce  this  unlawful  attempt  upon 
her  husband,  in  the  most  public  manner.  So 
she  went  directly  to  the  Convention,  which 
was  an  assembly  of  men  something   like  a 


120  the  child's  favorite. 

House  of  Commons,  that  at  this  time  gov- 
erned France.  She  jumped  into  a  hackney- 
coach,  and  ordered  it  to  drive  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible to  the  Carousel,  the  place  where  they 
were  sitting.  Having  arrived  at  the  doors  of 
the  outer  halls,  she  found  them  all  closed,  and 
sentinels  placed  at  the  entrance,  who  allowed 
no  one  to  pass,  and  who  sent  her  by  turns 
from  door  to  door. 

At  length  she  gained  admittance,  and  asked 
for  one  of  the  members  whom  she  knew, 
named  Vergniaux.  After  some  time  he  came, 
and  spoke  to  her  for  seven  or  eight  minutes. 
He  then  wrent  back  again  to  the  hall,  but  in 
a  little  while  returned. 

"  In  the  present  state  of  the  Assembly," 
said  he,  "  I  dare  not  natter  you :  you  have 


I     MADAME    ROLAND.  121 

no  great  room  to  hope.  You  may  obtain,  if 
you  get  admission  to  the  bar,  a  little  more 
favor  as  a  woman  ;  but  the  Convention  is  no 
longer  able  to  do  any  good." 

"It  is  able  to  do  any  thing  it  pleases," 
replied  Madame  Roland,  quickly.  "  The 
majority  of  the  people  only  want  to  know 
how  they  ought  to  act.  If  I  am  admitted  to 
the  Assembly,  I  will  venture  to  say  what  you 
cannot  utter  without  danger  to  yourself.  As 
to  me,  I  fear  nothing ;  and  if  I  cannot  save 
my  husband,  I  will  speak  some  home  truths, 
which  may  be  of  some  use  to  the  people." 

"  But  you  cannot  be  heard  for  some  hours," 

continued  Vergniaux  ;  "  think  what  a  tedious 

time  you  will  have  to  wait." 

"  I  will  go  home,  then,"  rejoined  Madame 
9 


122  the  child's  favorite. 

Roland,  "  and  see  what  is  passing  there,  but 
I  will  return  immediately.  Tell  our  friends 
of  my  intention." 

With  these  words,  the  courageous  wife 
quitted  the  member  of  Convention,  and 
springing  into  a  coach,  ordered  it  to  drive 
home.  But,  the  horses  going  too  slowly  to 
keep  pace  with  her  feelings,  she  jumped  out 
of  the  coach  and  hurried  home  on  foot. 
Having  reached-  her  house,  the  porter  whis- 
pered to  her  that  her  husband  was  at  the 
landlord's,  at  the  bottom  of  the  court.  She 
hastened  to  the  spot  in  a  moment,  and  found 
her  husband  at  liberty,  for  the  men  who 
were  guarding  him  had  withdrawn  them- 
selves, after  demanding. in  writing  his  protest 
against  being  arrested.     She  was  delighted 


MADAME    ROLAND.  123 

to  see  him,  and  she  informed  him  of  the  mea- 
sures she  had  taken  to  provide  for  his  safety. 
She  then  hastened  back  to  the  Convention. 

From  the  solitude  of  the  streets,  she  per- 
ceived it  was  late.  Still  she  proceeded; 
but  on  approaching  the  Carousel,  she  found 
the  sitting  was  at  an  end.  So  she  went 
thence  to  call  upon  a  friend  named  Pasquier, 
and  arrange  with  him  some  means  of  saving 
her  husband.  He  had  retired  to  bed;  he 
rose,  however,  and  Madame  Roland  sub- 
mitted her  plan  to  him.  He  listened  atten- 
tively to  what  she  said,  and  it  was  agreed 
that  they  should  meet  again  the  next  day. 
She  once  more  stepped  into  her  coach,  and 
was  proceeding  home,  when  she  was  stopped 
by  the  sentinel,  who  stood  at  his  post. 


124  the  child's  favorite. 

"  Have  a  little  patience,"  said  the  coach- 
man in  a  whisper,  turning  round  upon  his 
seat,  "it  is  the  custom  at  this  time  of  night." 

The  sentry  advanced  and  opened  the  door. 

"Who  have  we  here?"  said  he. 

"A  woman,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Whence  come  you?"  he  rejoined. 

"From  the  Convention,"  answered  Ma- 
dame Roland  again. 

"It  is  very  true,"  added  the  coachman,  as 
if  he  was  afraid  the  sentry  might  not  believe 
her. 

"Whither  are  you  going?"  again  demanded 
the  sentinel. 

"Home." 

"  Have  you  any  bundles  ?" 

"  None,  as  you  may  see." 


MADAME    ROLAND.  125 

"  But  the  Assembly  is  broken  up." 

"  Yes ;  to  my  sorrow,  for  I  had  a  petition 
to  present." 

The  sentinel  still  seemed  dissatisfied,  and 
continued  to  question  her. 

"  A  woman  at  this  hour  !  It  is  very  strange, 
very  imprudent." 

"  It  certainly  is  not  a  very  common  occur- 
rence, nor  is  it,  with  me,  a  matter  of  choice : 
I  must  have  had  strong  reasons  for  it." 

"But,  Madame,  alone?" 

"How,  Sir,  alone?  do  you  not  see  that 
I  have  Innocence  and  Truth  for  my  com- 
panions?" replied  the  high-spirited  lady. 

"  Well,  I  must  be  content  with  your  rea- 
sons." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  once  more  answered 


126  THE    CHILD  S   FAVORITE. 

Madame  Roland  in  a  gentler  tone,  "  for  they 
are  good  ones ;"  and  the  dialogue  concluded. 

Having  at  length  reached  her  home,  she 
had  ascended  eight  or  ten  steps,  when  she 
was  suddenly  addressed  by  a  man  who  was 
close  behind  her,  and  who  had  slipped  in, 
unperceived  by  the  porter.  He  begged  her 
to  conduct  him  to  Monsieur  Roland. 

"To  his  apartment  with  pleasure,"  she 
replied,  "  if  you  have  anything  favorable  to 
say  ;  but  to  him  it  is  impossible." 

"  I  came  to  let  him  know,"  said  the  man, 
"that  they  have  absolutely  determined  on 
confining  him  this  very  evening." 

"  They  must  be  wise  if  they  accomplish 
their  purpose,"  replied  his  heroic  wife. 

"  I    am    happy  to  hear   it,"    added    the 


MADAME    ROLAND.  127 

stranger,  "  for  it  is  an  honest  citizen  to  whom 
you  are  speaking." 

"  Well  and  good,"  said  Madame  Roland 
in  reply  once  more,  and  she  proceeded  up 
stairs,  hardly  knowing  what  opinion  to  form. 

You  may  perhaps  wonder  why  Madame 
Roland  returned  to  the  house  when  there 
was  so  much  danger,  and  why  she  did  not 
also  try  to  escape  as  her  husband  had  gone. 
The  reason  was  this;  Madame  Roland,  as 
you  have  already  partly  seen,  was  a  noble- 
minded  and  courageous  woman;  her  dis- 
position also  was  so  open  and  generous,  that 
she  could  not  bear  the  idea  of  hiding  herself 
anywhere,  even  from  injustice ;  and  I  dare 
say  she  could  hardly  believe  her  husband's 
enimies  would   be  so  wicked  and   cruel  as 


128  the  child's  favorite. 

to  take  her  life  away,  if  she  was  quite 
innocent  of  all  wrong;   we  shall  see. 

Having,  on  her  return  home,  quieted  the 
fears  of  her  family,  she  took  up  a  pen  for  the 
purpose  of  writing  a  note  to  her  husband. 
Scarcely  had  she  seated  herself  at  her  desk, 
when  she  was  disturbed  by  a  loud  knocking 
at  the  door ;  it  was  about  midnight,  a  num- 
ber of  people  appeared,  and  inquired  for 
Monsieur  Roland. 

"  He  is  not  at  home,"  said  his  wife. 

"But  where  can  he  be?"  said  a  person 
having  the  appearance  of  an  officer,  "  when 
will  he  return,  you  are  acquainted  with  his 
habits  and  can  doubtless  tell  about  what  time 
he  will  be  back?" 

"  I  know  not  whether  you  have  any  autho- 


MADAME    ROLAND.  12  9 

rity  to  ask  such  questions ;  but  this  I  know, 
nothing  can  compel  me  to  answer  them  :  as 
my  husband  left  the  house  while  I  was  at  the 
Convention,  he  had  it  not  in  his  power  to 
make  me  his  confidante  ;  this  is  all  I  have  to 
say." 

The  party  then  withdrew,  much  dissatis- 
fied, leaving  a  sentry  at  the  door  of  Madame 
Roland's  apartment,  and  a  guard  at  that  of 
the  house.  Overcome  with  fatigue,  and  de- 
termined to  brave  the  worst,  she  ordered 
supper;  she  then  finished  her  letter,  and 
having  entrusted  it  to  the  care  of  a  faith- 
ful servant  she  retired  to  rest.  She  slept 
soundly  for  about  an  hour,  when  she  was 
awakened  by  a  servant  and  told  that  some 


130  the  child's  favorite. 

gentlemen  requested    her   to   step   into   an 
adjoining  room. 

"  I  understand  what  it  means,"  replied  she 
calmly;  "go,  child,  I  will  not  make  them 
wait." 

Having  sprung  from  the  bed,  she  was  dress- 
ing when  her  maid  came  in  and  expressed 
surprise  that  she  should  be  at  the  pains  of 
putting  on  more  than  a  morning  robe. 

"  When  people  are  going  abroad,"  she 
replied,  "  they  should  at  least  be  decent." 

The  poor  woman,  looking  in  the  face  of 
her  mistress,  seemed  to  guess  her  meaning; 
and  burst  into  tears.  Madame  Roland  being 
ready,  walked  into  the  next  apartment. 

"  We  come,"  said  one  of  the  party  to  her 


MADAME    ROLAND.  131 

directly,  "  to  take  you  into  custody,  and  to 
put  seals  upon  your  property." 

A  warrant  was  then  produced  from  the 
Revolutionary  Committee,  ordering  the  arrest 
of  both  Monsieur  and  Madame  Roland ;  but 
it  did  not  say  what  they  were  to  be  arrested 
for ;  it  was  consequently  not  lawful.  Madame 
Roland  therefore  replied  that  she  had  a  right, 
like  her  husband,  to  resist  their  order  for 
taking  her;  but  thinking  the  brutal  people 
might  treat  her  with  violence  and  indignity, 
she  calmly  submitted  to  her  fate. 

She  then  sat  down,  and  while  the  officers 
were  sealing  up  her  property,  she  wrote  a 
letter  to  a  friend,  telling  of  her  situation,  and 
recommending  her  daughter  to  his  care ;  she 
was  folding  up  the  letter,  when  the  officer 


132  the  child's  favorite. 

informed  her  he  must  see  what  she  had 
written,  and  know  to  whom  the  letter  was 
addressed. 

"I  have  no  objection  to  read  it  to  you," 
she  said,  "if  that  will  satisfy  you." 

"  No,"  replied  the  officer,  "  it  will  be  better 
to  let  us  know  to  whom  you  are  writing." 

"I  shall  do  no  such  thing,"  Madame  Ro- 
land rejoined,  "  the  title  of  my  friend  is  too 
dangerous  a  one  at  present,  to  induce  me  to 
name  the  person  on  whom  I  bestow  it." 

With  these  words  she  tore  the  letter  in 
pieces.  As  she  turned  from  them,  the  offi- 
cers gathered  up  the  fragments  in  order  to 
seal  them  up,  and  afterwards  discover,  if 
possible,  to  whom  they  had  been  written. 
But  the  letter  had  no  address,  and  she  smiled 


MADAME    ROLAND.  133 

at  their  useless  caution.  At  seven  in  the 
morning,  she  left  her  daughter  and  her  domes- 
tics, after  exhorting  them  to  calmness  and 
patience. 

"  You  have  people  here  who  love  you," 
said  one  of  the  party  with  her,  observing  the 
tears  of  her  family. 

"  I  never  had  any  about  me  who  did  not," 
replied  Madame  Roland,  as  she  walked  down 
the  stairs. 

From  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  to  the  coach, 
which  was  drawn  up  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street,  stood  two  ranks  of  armed  citizens. 
She  proceeded  gravely,  and  with  measured 
steps,  while  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  those 
deluded  men,  who  seemed  not  to  know  that 
the  tyranny  of  those  who  now  oppressed  the 


134  the  child's  favorite. 

country  was  worse  than  that  of  any  of  their 
kings.  The  armed  force  followed  the  coach 
in  two  files,  or  ranks,  while  a  mob  of  people, 
attracted  by  the  sight,  stopped  to  gaze  as  it 
passed. 

"  Away  with  her  to  the  guillotine  !"  ex- 
claimed several  ferocious  women;  for  the 
women  at  this  dreadful  time  were  as  bad  and 
cruel  as  the  men.  The  guillotine  is  the  in- 
strument of  death  by  which  criminals  are 
executed  in  France.  By  it  the  victim's  head 
is  chopped  off,  and  a  dreadful  thing  it  is. 

"  Shall  we  draw  down  the  blinds  ?"  said 
one  of  the  men  civilly  to  Madame  Roland, 
upon  hearing  the  fierce  cry  of  these  women. 

"No,  gentlemen,"  she  replied,  "inno- 
cence, however  oppressed,  should  never  put 


MADAME    ROLAND.  135 

on  the  guise  of  criminality.  I  fear  not  the 
eye  of  any  one,  nor  will  I  conceal  myself 
from  any  person's  view." 

"  You  have  more  strength  of  mind  than 
many  men ;"  again  remarked  the  officer. 
"  You  wait  patiently  for  justice." 

"  Justice  !"  she  rejoined.  "  Were  justice 
done,  I  should  not  now  be  in  your  hands. 
But  even  if  I  should  be  sent  to  the  scaffold, 
I  shall  walk  to  it  with  the  same  tranquillity 
and  firmness  as  I  now  go  to  prison.  I  never 
feared  any  thing  but  guilt :  injustice  and 
death  I  despise." 

At  length  she  reached  her  prison,  where 
she  was  obliged  to  put  up  with  the  most 
wretched  accommodation.  But  her  fortitude 
did  not  desert  her.    Indeed,  she  says  herself, 


136  the  child's  favorite. 

she  would  not  have  exchanged  the  moments 
that  followed,  for  those  which  might  have 
been  thought  by  others,  the  happiest  of  her 
life.  Her  situation  made  her  deeply  sensible 
of  the  value  of  integrity,  virtue,  and  an 
approving  conscience.  These  were  the  reflec- 
tions that  engaged  her  mind.  She  thought 
indeed  more  of  other  people's  miseries  than 
her  own ;  and  although  she  could  have  had 
better  food  if  she  had  chosen,  she  actually 
contented  herself  with  bread  and  water  that 
she  might  relieve  her  wretched  fellow-pri- 
soners. 

While  in  prison,  Madame  Roland  had 
written  a  letter  to  the  Convention,  complain- 
ing of  the  ill-treatment  she  had  met  with, 
and  demanding  justice.     Her  cruel  enemies 


MADAME    ROLAND.  137 

seemed  to  think  she  was  in  the  right,  and 
ordered  her  to  be  set  at  liberty  ;  but,  as  you 
will  see  presently,  it  was  only  a  cruel  mockery. 
Upon  being  set  free,  she  immediately  drove 
home  to  leave  a  few  things  there,  and  then 
went  to  the  house  of  the  kind  friends  who  had 
taken  care  of  her  daughter.  She  jumped 
lightly  from  the  coach,  and  then  flew,  as  on 
wings,  under  the  gateway. 

"  Good  morrow,  Lamarre,"  said  she  to  the 
porter  cheerfully,  as  she  passed. 

But  she  had  scarcely  proceeded  up  four  or 
five  stairs,  when  she  heard  herself  called  by 
two  men,  who  had  kept  close  behind  her. 

"  What  do  you  want?"  said  she,  turning 
round  and  addressing  them. 

"  We  arrest  you  in  the  name  of  the  law." 

10 


138  THE    CHILD  S   FAVORITE. 

Her  feelings,  at  this  moment,  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  describe.  You  must  imagine  them. 
You  may  think  how  bitter  a  shock  it  must 
have  been  to  find  herself  a  prisoner  again  just 
as  she  was  congratulating  herself  upon  her 
recovered  liberty.  Still  she  behaved  with  her 
accustomed  fortitude.  She  desired  the.order 
for  her  arrest  to  be  read  to  her  ;  and  taking 
an  immediate  resolution,  stepped  down  stairs, 
and  walked  hastily  across  the  yard. 

"  Whither  are  you  going  ?"  said  one  of  the 
men. 

"  To  my  landlord's,  where  I  have  business  ; 
follow  me  thither,"  she  replied. 

The  mistress  of  the  house  opened  the  door 
with  a  smile  of  pleasure  and  of  welcome. 

"  Let  me  sit  down  and  breathe,"  exclaimed 


MADAME    ROLAND.  139 

Madame  Roland  ;  "but  do  not  rejoice  at  my 
being  set  at  liberty  ;  it  is  only  a  cruel  artifice. 
I  am  no  sooner  released  from  one  prison  than 
I  am  ordered  to  another.  However,  I  am 
determined  to  put  myself  under  the  protec- 
tion of  the  section  to  which  I  belong,  and  I 
will  beg  you  to  send  thither  for  me." 

Paris  was  at  this  time  divided  into  sections, 
or  parts,  and  the  part  to  which  Madame 
Roland  belonged,  had  lately  objected  strongly 
to  the  cruel  and  unjust  acts  of  the  Govern- 
ment. She  thought,  therefore,  her  section 
might  assist  her.  The  landlord's  son,  with 
all  the  honest  and  generous  feeling  of  youth, 
accordingly  offered  to  go.  For  no  other 
crime  than  this,  the  poor  young  man  was 
afterwards  dragged  to  the  scaffold  and  mur- 


140  the  child's  favorite. 

dered,  and  his  father  died  of  grief.  Such 
were  the  savage  deeds  of  the  Revolutionary 
Government. 

Madame  Roland's  attempt  to  procure  pro- 
tection was  of  no  avail.  The  people  of  her 
section  had  not  power  enough  to  save  her, 
and  she  once  more  resigned  herself  to  her 
fate.  The  prison  she  was  conveyed  to  was 
even  worse  than  the  other ;  but  she  did  not 
allow  her  courage  to  sink.  She  divided  her 
days  with  as  much  order  as  she  could  in  a 
dungeon,  and  employed  her  time  in  various 
ways.  Reading  and  drawing  were  her  prin- 
cipal amusements. 

At  length  her  enemies  began  to  long  for 
her  death.  She  was  accordingly  brought 
before  the  Revolutionary  tribunal,  and,  after 


MADAME    ROLAND.  141 

the  mockery  of  a  trial,  sentenced  to  be  guil- 
lotined. On  the  day  of  her  condemnation, 
she  was  neatly  dressed  in  white,  her  long  black 
hair  flowing  loosely  to  her  waist.  She  would 
have  melted  the  most  savage  nature  ;  but  her 
cruel  enemies  seemed  to  have  no  hearts. 
After  sentence  had  been  passed  upon  her,  she 
walked  away  with  a  light,  cheerful  step,  and 
made  a  sign  for  her  friends  to  signify  that  she 
was  condemned  to  die. 

Upon  preparing  for  execution,  this  noble- 
minded  woman  behaved  still  with  the  greatest 
calmness  and  fortitude.  She  suffered  her 
hair  to  be  cut  off,  and  her  hands  to  be  bound 
without  a  murmur  or  a  complaint.  There 
was  a  man  named  Lamarche  also  left  for  exe- 


142  the  child's  favorite. 

cution,  and  who  was  to  die  with  her.  She 
saw  that  he  was  dejected,  and  tried  to  cheer 
him  by  her  own  example.  She  even  insisted 
upon  being  the  first  to  suffer,  that  she  might 
show  him  how  easy  it  was  to  die  ;  and  finally 
met  her  fate  with  the  most  heroic  firmness. 

Such  was  the  end  of  the  celebrated  Ma- 
dame Roland.  Her  husband,  when  he  heard 
of  her  death,  was  overwhelmed  with  grief  and 
despair;  and  he  resolved  not  to  survive  her. 
Accordingly,  he  retired  from  the  friend's 
house,  at  which  he  lay  concealed,  and  put  an 
end  to  his  existence  with  a  sword  he  had  pro- 
vided for  the  purpose.  He  plunged  it  into 
his  breast,  and  was  found  the  next  day  sitting 
and  leaning  against  a  tree,  quite  dead,  but  as 


MADAME    ROLAND.  143 

calm  and  composed  as  if  in  slumber.  Their 
daughter,  whom  I  have  mentioned,  afterwards 
became  the  wife  of  a  gentleman  named 
Champagneux,  one  of  the  most  faithful  friends 
of  her  parents. 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER. 


My  dear  young  readers,  there  is  no  lesson 
more  important  for  you  to  learn  and  practise, 
than  the  necessity  of  forgiving  injuries,  and 
returning  good  for  evil.  Without  doing  so, 
you  mu^i  not  expect  to  be  looked  upon  as  a 
Christian,  for  the  practice  of  this  virtue  is 
one  of  the  chief  foundations  of  the  Christian 
character.  Our  blessed  Saviour  has  made 
particular  reference   to  it  in   that  beautiful 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      145 

prayer,  known  by  the  name  of  the  Lord's 
Prayer.  This  prayer  you  are  in  the  constant 
habit  of  offering  up  to  your  Maker,  night  and 
morning  ; — at  least  I  should  be  very  sorry  to 
think  you  are  not  so.  In  it  you  say,  "for- 
give us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  them 
that  trespass  against  us."  So  you  see  that 
you  actually  pray  to  God  to  forgive  you  your 
own  sins  and  offences  only,  if  you  have  al- 
ready forgiven  every  one  who  may  at  any 
time  have  injured  you.  Now  this  is  a  very 
awful  thing  to  think  of,  and  it  is  quite  plain, 
that  whenever  you  kneel  down  to  say  this 
prayer,  you  ought  to  ask  yourself  whether 
you  have  any  ill-feelings  towards  any  one. 
If  you  have,  you  should  pause  and  refrain 
from  saying  it  until,  upon  reflection,  you  have 


146  the  child's  favorite. 

dismissed  such  feelings  from  your  heart; 
otherwise,  you  will  only  be  uttering  your  own 
condemnation. 

It  must  often  happen,  I  know,  in  the 
course  of  your  daily  doings,  that  little 
quarrels  and  disagreements  will  take  place 
between  you  and  some  of  your  young  com- 
panions. And  very  often  you  may  be  alto- 
gether in  the  right;  some  one  may  hurt  you 
and  annoy  you,  without  any  cause  whatever; 
but  this  is  no  reason  why  you  should  be 
sullen  and  obstinate,  and  refuse  to  forgive 
whoever  it  may  be.  Sometimes,  if  you  look 
fairly  into  your  own  conduct,  the  fault  will 
be  with  yourself;  and  you  would  think  it 
very  bad  in  others,  who  from  some  ill-tem- 
pered word  or  act  of  yours,  that  you  might 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      147 

afterwards  be  sorry  for,  should  begin  to  hate 
you,  and  do  all  they  could  to  show  it. 

I  fear  that  this  resentment  is  sometimes 
thought  to  show  spirit,  but  this  is  a  very  sad 
mistake,  and  a  very  sinful  one  too.  As  you 
grow  older  you  will  find  that  nothing  is 
thought  so  really  high-spirited,  and  so  noble- 
minded  as  to  forgive  injuries.  Such  a  dis- 
position is  universally  beloved  and  admired, 
even  by  those  who  have  not  virtue  enough  to 
practise  it;  and  the  example  of  it  has  often 
been  known  to  convert  the  wicked,  where 
punishment  and  all  other  means  would  have 
failed.  I  will  now  tell  you  a  little  story  I 
once  heard,  which  is  quite  true,  to  prove 
what  I  say. 

George  and  Frederick  Stanley  were  the 


148  the  child's  favorite. 

sons  of  a  gentleman  of  good  fortune,  in  the 
North  of  England.  Mr.  Stanley  had  for- 
merly been  engaged  in  trade;  hut  by  strict 
attention  and  integrity  he  had  amassed  suffi- 
cient wealth  to  retire  from  its  cares.  He 
therefore  bought  a  pretty  little  estate,  and 
withdrew  to  it  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  days 
in  peace,  and  to  superintend  the  education  of 
his  two  sons.  He  had  married  rather  late  in 
life,  and  his  children  were  still  young  when 
he  left  business.  He  had,  however,  been 
married  twice;  but  his  first  wife  had  died 
about  a  year  after  their  union,  leaving  a  little 
boy  to  the  care  of  her  sorrowful  husband. 
Afterwards,  he  married  again,  when  he  had 
the  second  son;  the  two  boys  were  conse- 
quently half-brothers. 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      149 

George,  the  elder  of  the  two,  was  a  boy  of 
small  stature,  and  sickly  in  appearance.  His 
features  were  also  very  plain,  and  having  had 
the  misfortune  in  infancy,  to  be  severely  at- 
tacked by  the  small-pox,  his  face  was  deeply 
pitted.  Altogether,  therefore,  his  person  was 
not  such  as  to  prepossess  people  in  his  favor, 
at  first  sight.  But  all  these  defects  were 
amply  compensated  by  the  goodness  of  his 
disposition,  and  the  superior  excellence  of  his 
mind.  He  was  mild,  amiable,  affectionate, 
studious  and  learned.  He  was  also  charita- 
ble to  the  poor,  bestowing  his  pocket  money 
on  the  blind  beggar  at  the  door,  while 
Frederick  expended  all  his  in  toys  and  sweet 
meats. 

Frederick,  the  younger  brother,  was  the 


150  the  child's  favorite. 

opposite  of  George,  in  every  respect.  Nature 
had  bestowed  upon  him  every  advantage  of 
form  and  face ;  and  his  disposition  was  very 
lively,  which  is  too  often  mistaken  in  children 
for  sense.  But  he  was  vain,  proud,  idle,  igno- 
rant, and  obstinate.  In  spite  of  these  bad 
qualities,  however,  he  was,  while  a  child,  a 
general  favorite,  on  account  of  the  beauty  of 
his  person.  Even  his  father,  till  he  dis- 
covered his  evil  disposition,  looked  upon  him 
with  more  affection  than  upon  his  brother  ; 
although  he  was  too  sensible  a  man  to  make 
any  difference  in  his  treatment  of  them.  But 
his  mother,  who  was  a  vain  and  foolish 
woman,  lavished  all  her  tenderness  upon 
him,  while  she  regarded  poor  George,  with 
all  the  harshness  of  a  step-mother.     What- 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      151 

ever  the  latter  did  was  sure  to  be  wrong 
with  her ;  and  he  was  loaded  with  reproaches, 
and  even  cruelly  upbraided  for  his  personal 
defects.  On  the  contrary,  whatever  Frede- 
rick did  was  sure  to  be  right  in  the  eyes  of 
his  mother,  who  could  see  nothing  wrong 
in  her  beautiful  boy  as  she  called  him  ;  and 
if  any  difference  ever  arose  between  the 
brothers,  she  always  took. the  part  of  the 
youngest,  without  inquiring  into  the  cause ; 
no  matter  how  unjust  it  might  be. 

This  treatment  produced  the  effect,  which 
such  treatment  always  must  produce.  Frede- 
rick became  quite  a  spoilt  child.  He  grew 
more  vain,  obstinate,  passionate,  and  capri- 
cious, every  day ;  and  by  degrees  began  to 
tyrannize  over  his  elder  brother.    He  would 


152  the  child's  favorite. 

torment  him  and  annoy  him  in  every  way 
possible,  and  sometimes  go  and  tell  tales  of 
him  to  his  mother,  who  believed  every  thing 
he  said.  Poor  George  bore  it  all  with  the 
greatest  meekness  and  patience  ;  but  it  made 
him  very  unhappy.  For  although  his  father 
behaved  much  more  kindly  to  him,  and 
would  often  reprove  his  brother,  he  felt  there 
was  not  that  warmth  in  his  manner  which 
his  heart  yearned  for;  and  he  often  bitterly 
lamented  the  want  of  a  mother's  love.  He 
often  remonstrated  calmly  with  his  brother, 
upon  his  unkindness  towards  him  ;  but  the 
only  return  Frederick  ever  made,  was  to 
laugh  at  him  and  ridicule  him. 

All  this   time  George  was  making  rapid 
progress  in  learning,  under  the  tuition  of  his 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      153 

father.  Indeed,  his  love  of  study  was  so 
great,  that  nothing  came  amiss  to  him ;  and 
the  delight  he  found  in  books  was  one  of  his 
chief  sources  of  consolation,  under  his  trials. 
Frederick,  on  the  contrary,  got  on  very 
slowly ;  and  when  his  brother  could  read  and 
write  well,  and  was  beginning  to  learn  Latin, 
he  could  scarcely  spell  a  word  of  two  syllables. 
There  was,  however,  as  I  said  before,  a  live- 
liness of  disposition  about  him,  and  some- 
times a  degree  of  fun  and  drollery  in  what  he 
said,  that  his  parents  still  thought  he  was 
clever,  and  that  some  day  he  would  start  for- 
ward in  his  learning  all  at  once. 

At  length  their  father  thought  it  better  to 
send  them  both  to  school,  that  Frederick, 

removed  from  his   mother's  over  fondness, 
11 


154  the  child's  favorite. 

and  treated  like  the  rest  of  the  boys,  might 
pay  more  attention  to  his  lessons.  This 
news,  when  he  first  heard  of  it,  filled  him 
with  great  grief.  He  cried  bitterly,  and 
begged  and  entreated  of  his  father  not  to 
send  him  away  ;  but  George's  love  of  learn- 
ing, and  wish  to  improve  himself,  added  to 
his  uncomfortable  situation  at  home,  made 
the  idea  of  going  to  school,  very  agreeable  to 
him.  Mrs.  Stanley  was  very  loth  to  part 
with  her  darling  boy;  but  although  she 
behaved  so  ill  to  poor  George,  and  quite 
spoilt  the  other  by  her  foolish  partiality,  she 
was  not  so  foolish  as  not  to  know  that  it 
was  for  his  good  that  he  should  be  sent  to 
school ;  so  she  consented  to  the  arrangement, 
although  not  without  many  tears,  and  tried 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      155 

to  persuade  Frederick  to  submit  quietly  to 
his  father's  decision.  He  was,  however,  so 
obstinate  and  passionate,  and  made  such  an 
outcry  about  it,  that  it  was  not  till  his  father 
had  threatened  to  flog  him,  and  even  began 
to  put  his  threat  into  execution,  that  he  be- 
came pacified. 

When,  at  length,  the  time  of  their  depar- 
ture arrived,  George  received  a  single  kiss, 
and  a  cold  good-bye  from  his  step-mother, 
and  hastened  to  take  his  place  in  the  car- 
riage. Frederick  then  came  forward,  al- 
though very  much  against  his  will,  and  his 
mother  seized  him,  and  clasped  him  in  her 
arms,  almost  devouring  him  with  kisses, 
and  shedding  torrents  of  tears.  At  last  she 
was  obliged  to  take  her  last  look  of  him,  and 


156  the  child's  favorite. 

Mr.  Stanley  then  stepped  into  the  carriage, 
and  the  party  drove  off. 

The  journey  was  passed  on  the  part  of  the 
younger  boy,  in  tears,  and  sullen  silence ; 
while  his  brother,  with  great  amiability,  tried 
all  he  could  to  cheer  him.  Mr.  Stanley  also 
endeavoured  to  soothe  his  sorrow;  but  in 
spite  of  his  affection  for  him,  he  could  not 
help  being  struck  with  the  great  superiority 
of  George's  heart  and  mind  ;  and  every  day 
his  attachment  towards  his  elder  son  was 
growing  stronger  and  stronger.  After  a  ride 
of  about  fourteen  miles,  they  arrived  at  the 
school.  It  was  a  fine  large  house,  and  ap- 
parently surrounded  by  extensive  grounds. 
The  name  of  it  was  Eskdale  Hall.  The  Rev. 
Mr.  Chambers,  the  master,  who  was  a  very 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      157 

excellent  and  clever  man,  attended,  and  Mr. 
Stanley  and  his  two  sons  were  ushered  into  a 
large  and  handsome  parlor,  where  they  were 
treated  with  the  greatest  politeness.  Mr. 
Chambers,  seeing  Frederick's  spirits  so  de- 
pressed, spoke  in  a  kind  and  soothing  tone 
to  him,  and  introduced  some  of  his  pupils, 
in  the  hope  of  dispelling  his  gloom  ;  and  in 
a  little  while  the  sulky  boy  was  induced  to 
join  their  amusements. 

Mr.  Stanley  took  this  opportunity  to  de- 
part unobserved,  for  he  wished  to  spare 
both  Frederick  and  himself  the  pain  of  a 
parting ;  George,  he  knew,  could  bear  it 
better.  He  first  of  all,  however,  made  Mr. 
Chambers  acquainted  with  the  different  dis- 
positions  of  his  two  new  pupils,  and  gave 


158  the  child's  favorite. 

him  a  few  general  directions  to  guide  him  as 
to  his  treatment  of  them,  and  then  taking  an 
affectionate  farewell  of  George,  he  set  off  for 
home. 

Frederick,  by  his  prepossessing  appear- 
ance, his  lively  disposition,  and  fondness  of 
play,  soon  made  his  way  among  his  school- 
fellows. The  masters  also  regarded  him 
with  favor  at  first  sight,  while  poor  George 
seemed  still  doomed  to  be  neglected ;  but 
this  did  not  last  long.  Frederick,  before 
many  days,  disgusted  several  of  his  young 
companions  by  his  overbearing,  quarrelsome 
disposition,  and  his  masters  by  his  idleness 
and  ignorance.  The  evil  effects  of  his  mo- 
ther's indulgence  were  now  very  plain,  for 
as  he  had  never  been  accustomed  to  learn, 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      159 

he  found  it  the  most  disagreeable  thing- 
possible.  He  was  often  confined  during 
play-hours  and  compelled  to  be  at  his  tasks, 
after  all  the  other  boys  had  done  their's  ; 
and  even  then  he  could  do  very  little  without 
his  brother's  assistance. 

George,  on  the  contrary,  grew  more  and 
more  in  favour  every  day,  especially  with 
the  masters,  who  were  delighted  with  his 
quick  parts,  his  desire  to  learn,  and  his 
amiability.  With  Mr.  Chambers  he  was 
a  particular  favorite,  who  looked  upon  him 
as  one  of  the  most  promising  boys  in  his 
school,  and  one  who  hereafter  would  confer 
credit  upon  it.  His  behaviour  towards  his 
brother  was  of  the  same  kind  and  generous 
nature    as   it  had    always    been,    although 


160  the  child's  favorite. 

Frederick  often  taunted  him  with  being  a 
mere  book-worm,  and  jeered  him  for  not 
joining  in  the  usual  sports  of  the  boys ; 
sometimes  he  even  joined  with  some  of  the 
worst  of  his  young  companions  in  calling 
him  a  spy  and  other  nicknames,  merely 
because  he  was  so  great  a  favorite  with 
the  masters.  Still  George  bore  it  all  with 
the  greatest  good-nature,  caring  for  nothing 
so  that  he  did  his  duty,  and  hoping  that  as 
his  brother  grew  older  he  would  come  to 
know  better. 

Month  after  month  passed  away  quickly 
enough  as  it  seemed  to  George,  for  being 
always  occupied  and  happy  in  the  good  graces 
of  his  master,  he  had  no  reason  to  quarrel 
with  the  course  of  time.    With  Frederick,  it 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      161 

was  quite  different ;  each  week  seemed  to  him 
wretchedly  slow  and  dreary,  as  he  took  note 
of  them,  one  by  one,  in  his  anxious  long- 
ing for  the  approach  of  the  holydays.  At 
last,  however,  the  much  wished  for  period 
did  arrive,  and  while  preparing  to  go  home, 
he  determined  to  do  all  he  could  to  persuade 
his  parents  not  to  send  him  back  to  school 
again.  On  the  day  of  breaking  up,  their 
father  sent  the  carriage  and  a  servant  to 
bring  them  home.  Upon  its  driving  up 
to  the  door,  the  boys  quickly  took  their 
seats  in  it,  although  with  different  feelings ; 
and  before  two  hours  they  once  more  found 
themselves  under  their  paternal  roof. 

Mr.  Stanley  had   from   time  to  time  re- 
ceived from  Mr.  Chambers  accounts  of  the 


162  the  child's  favorite. 

progress  of  his  two  sons  ;  in  these  accounts 
their  conduct  had  been  fairly  set  forth  by 
their  master,  who  dwelt  with  great  praise 
upon  the  numerous  excellencies  of  George, 
and  seemed  to  regret  that  he  could  not 
speak  in  the  same  way  of  his  brother.  Mr. 
Stanley  had  accordingly  been  much  grieved 
by  the  bad  behaviour  of  his  younger  son, 
although  he  was  greatly  soothed  by  the 
pleasure  he  felt  in  the  good  behaviour  of 
George.  Upon  their  return  home,  however, 
he  received  them  both  in  the  most  affec- 
tionate manner,  while  his  wife  flew  to  Fre- 
derick, and  almost  overwhelmed  him  with 
kisses  and  questions. 

George,  although  he   longed   very   much 
to  see  his  father,  had  not  anticipated  much 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      163 

happiness  from  the  holydays.  He  did  not 
expect  to  find  his  step-mother's  feelings  to- 
wards him  changed,  and  he  now  found  that 
he  had  farther  mortifications  to  endure  from 
her  disregard  of  him ;  but  the  kindness  and 
affection  of  his  father  very  much  delighted 
him ;  indeed  his  good  qualities  had  long 
been  working  their  effect  in  his  father's  heart ; 
and  it  was  apparent  from  many  little  things 
that  he  was  now  his  favorite. 

Nor  is  there  anything  wrong  in  the  feeling 
in  such  a  case  ;  for  although  it  is  not  right 
for  parents  to  show  any  difference  of  feeling 
towards  their  children,  on  account  of  personal 
appearance,  it  is  quite  different  with  regard 
to  their  dispositions.  It  is  very  right  and 
very  necessary  to  make  a  distinction  between 


164  THE    CHILD'S    FAVORITE. 

the  bad  and  the  good,  and  to  let  the  virtuous 
child  know  that  his  virtues  will  render  him 
more  beloved  than  the  vicious  one. 

Mrs.  Stanley,  however,  was  very  much 
vexed  to  see  the  increasing  affection  of  her 
husband  towards  his  eldest  son,  and  it  made 
her  treat  him  with  still  more  harshness  and 
severity.  When  the  time  came  round,  there- 
fore, for  the  boys  to  go  back  to  school, 
George  was  quite  glad.  Frederick,  however, 
was  as  sullen  and  silent  as  before,  for  all 
his  tears  and  entreaties  to  be  permitted  to 
remain  at  home  were  in  vain ;  they  accord- 
ingly returned  to  Eskdale  House. 

Things  went  on  in  this  manner  for  some 
few  years,  when  at  length,  in  consequence  of 
a  fall  from  his  horse  while  riding,  Mr.  Stan- 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      165 

ley  died.  Upon  opening  his  will  it  was 
discovered  &at,  after  making  an  ample  pro- 
vision for  his  widow,  he  had  divided  the 
rest  of  his  property  equally  between  his  two 
sons ;  he  also  left  his  dying  injunctions  to 
Frederick  to  live  upon  more  harmonious 
•  terms  with  his  brother. 

The  death  of  his  father  was  a.  sad  blow  to 
poor  George,  for  it  was  only  from  him  that 
he  received  any  return  to  the  affections  he 
felt  glowing  within  his  own  breast.  He  had 
also  always  stood  by  him  in  the  quarrels 
which  took  place  between  him  and  his  brother 
and  step-mother,  and  he  felt  that  his  home 
would  be  miserable  enough  now.  It  is  true 
the  treatment  he  met  with  was  not  of  the 
same  kind  as  that  which  he  had  received  in 


166  the  child's  favorite. 

childhood,  for  the  boys  had  now  grown  to  be 
young  men  ;  but  it  was  as  unjujt,  and  to  his 
warm  heart,  as  bitter.  His  anticipations 
were  true  enough,  for  being  no  longer  con- 
trolled by  the  presence  of  Mr.  Stanley,  their 
bad  conduct  knew  no  check.  For  some  time 
he  bore  it  with  his  usual  patience,  till,  indeed,  • 
he  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  was  compelled 
to  leave  his  home.  Accordingly,  each  took 
their  respective  shares  of  their  father's  pro- 
perty, and  the  brothers  separated. 

Mrs.  Stanley  soon  began  to  suffer  the 
penalty  of  her  foolish  fondness  for  one  brother 
and  her  bad  conduct  towards  the  other.  The 
fortunefthat  fell  to  Frederick's  share  was  suffi- 
cient, with  prudence,  to  have  maintained  him 
comfortably  through  life ;  but  he  was  a  spoilt 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      167 

child  from  his  hirth,  and  he  had  no  sooner  got 
so  much  mgney  into  his  power,  than  he 
plunged  into  every  kind  of  excess.  He  drank 
to  intoxication,  attended  horse-races  and  the 
gaming-table,  and  indulged  in  many  other 
vices,  so  that  in  a  few  years  he  found  himself 
nearly  destitute.  This  conduct  occasioned  his 
mother  a  great  deal  of  trouble;  but  what 
grieved  her  most  was,  that  with  his  losses  his 
disposition  seemed  to  grow  worse,  and  he  now 
began  to  treat  even  her  with  harshness  and 
passion. 

This  was,  perhaps,  no  more  than  she  de- 
served; but  she  felt  it  very  hard  that  her 
punishment  should  come  from  Frederick,  as 
all  her  misconduct  had  grown  out  of  her 
over-fondness  for  him.  He  would  often  come 


168  the  child's  favorite. 

home  after  remaining  away  for  some  days, 
and  demand  money  of  her.  ^fie,  to  pacify 
him,  was  obliged  to  give  it  him.  This  she 
had  done  so  often  as  seriously  to  injure  her 
own  property ;  hut  the  reckless  Frederick 
consoled  her  and  himself  with  the  expecta- 
tion of  a  large  increase  of  fortune  upon  the 
death  of  a  rich  uncle.  This  uncle  was  his 
godfather,  and  he  expected  to  inherit  a  great 
portion  of  his  property,  and  as  he  was  far 
advanced  in  years,  and  in  a  bad  state  of 
health,  he  thought  he  could  not  have  to  wait 
long. 

All  this  time  George  had  been  conducting 
himself  in  the  same  sensible  and  amiable 
manner  as  he  had  always  done.  He  had  re- 
moved to  no  great  distance  from  his  home, 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      169 

in  case  anything  should  happen  to  require  his 
presence,  for  he  still  retained  an  attachment 
for  his  cruel  relatives,  in  spite  of  all  their  ill- 
treatment.  ,  Every  one  in  the  neighborhood 
loved  and  admired  him  for  his  general  good 
character  and  his  benevolence.  Even  Mrs. 
Stanley,  as  she  thought  of  Frederick's  un- 
kindness,  began  to  repent  of  having  treated 
her  step-son  so  unworthily.  George  was 
also  a  great  favorite  with  the  rich  uncle  be- 
fore mentioned,  who  liked  him  the  best  on 
account  of  his  good  qualities,  notwithstanding 
his  brother  was  his  god"-son. 

At  last  the  old  gentleman  died,  and  Fre- 
derick, as  soon  as  he  heard  of  it,  hastened  to 
the  house  to  learn  the  disposition  of  his 
property.     He  found  George  there,  who  had 

12 


170  the  child's  favorite. 

attended  his  uncle  in  his  last  moments,  and 
who  received  his  brother  with  his  usual  kind- 
ness. He,  however,  was  thinking  of  nothing 
but  the  riches  which  he  hoped  to  find  left 
him,  and  he  demanded  of  his  brother  to  be 
made  acquainted  with  his  uncle's  will.  George 
told  him  he  could  not  do  so  at  present,  but  that 
he  should  see  the  will  in  a  few  days. 

The  truth  is,  that  the  good  old  man  had 
been  so  much  offended  by  the  vicious  career 
of  his  younger  nephew,  that  he  had  left  him 
nothing ;  to  George  he  had  bequeathed  the 
great  bulk  of  his  wealth,  as  a  tribute  of 
his  admiration  and  respect  for  his  virtues; 
this  the  generous  young  man  knew,  and  he 
was  anxious  to  put  his  brother  off  till  he 
could  arrange  a  plan  for  transferring  a  portion 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      171 

of  the  property  to  him.  His  excuses,  how- 
ever, only  irritated  Frederick  and  made  him 
insist  more  eagerly  upon  knowing  the  con- 
tents of  his  uncle's  will ;  such  was  his  passion 
that  he  even  accused  his  brother  of  dishonesty, 
and  taunted  him  with  wishing  to  rob  him  of 
a  portion  of  his  share.  George  was  accord- 
ingly obliged  to  give  way  to  him,  and  it  was 
agreed  that  the  will  should  be  read  at  the 
lawyer's  on  the  following  day. 

When  the  appointed  time  arrived,  Frede- 
rick, full  of  impatience,  with  his  mother  and 
George  repaired  to  the  lawyer's ;  the  will 
was  then  brought  out  and  read  in  the  presence 
of  all  of  them.  It  had  evidently  been  made  a 
good  many  years  ;  after  various  bequests  of 
small  amount  to  different  friends  and  depen- 


172  the  child's  favorite. 

dents  ;  the  first  part  of  the  will  went  on  to 
divide  his  property  between  his  two  nephews ; 
this  was  done  pretty  equally,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  a  particular  bequest  to  Frederick,  on 
account  of  his  being  the  testator's  god-son. 
Frederick  seemed  full  of  glee ;  but  this  was 
not  all ;  the  lawyer  went  on  to  read  a  codicil 
which  had  afterwards  been  added,  and  what 
was  the  astonishment  and  mortification  of 
the  younger  brother  when  he  heard  the 
following  words  : 

"  My  nephew  Frederick  having  by  his  mis- 
conduct rendered  himself  utterly  unworthy  of 
me  and  of  the  benefits  I  had  intended  to  con- 
fer upon  him,  I  hereby  formally  disinherit 
him  ;  virtue,  on  the  contrary,  deserves  every 
reward,   and   I   hereby  constitute  my  dear 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      173 

nephew  George  sole  heir  of  the  property- 
above,  bequeathed  to  his  unworthy  brother 
Frederick,  in  addition  to  what  I  have  pre- 
viously left  him." 

This  was  a  dreadful  blow  to  Frederick,  who 
now  saw  nothing  but  ruin  and  the  gaol  be- 
fore him;  for  besides  having  spent  all  his 
own  money  he  was  considerably  in  debt. 
He  turned  deadly  pale,  and  despair  seemed 
imprinted  on  every  feature  of  his  face ;  he 
sat  quite  silent,  for  he  seemed  too  much  over- 
come to  be  passionate ;  in  a  few  minutes  he 
rose  from  his  seat  as  if  to  depart,  and  it  seemed 
as  though  he  was  now  for  the  first  time  made 
sensible  of  the  folly  and  guilt  of  his  past  con- 
duct; for  he  murmured  in  a  low  tone,  "I 
have  deserved  it — I  have  deserved  it." 


174  the  child's  favorite. 

The  noble-hearted  George  was  cut  to  the 
heart  at  beholding  his  brother's  emotion; 
at  the  same  time  he  could  not  help  feeling 
pleased  at  what  he  said,  since  it  seemed  to 
bespeak  a  repentant  spirit.  He  hastened  up 
to  him  and  endeavored  to  soothe  him. 

"  Dear  brother,"  said  he,  "  do  not  be 
so  depressed;  I  have  already  told  you  that 
you  shall  have  your  full  share  of  our  uncle's 
property.  If  he  could  see  you  now,  I  am 
sure  he  would  allow  his  first  will  to  stand ; 
you  appear  to  feel  you  have  done  wrong. 
Oh,  Frederick !  there  is  no  shame  in  owning 
it — there  is  no  want  of  spirit  in  repentance. 
Your  misfortunes  have  chiefly  sprung  from 
our  disagreements ;  be  yourself,  then ;  you 
have   allowed   the  better  qualities  of  your 


THE  GENEROUS  BROTHER.      175 

disposition  to  be  obscured,  for  I  am  sure 
you  possess  them.  Let  us,  Frederick,  be 
brothers  in  spirit  as  we  are  by  nature  ;  let 
us  live  united,  and  happiness  must  be  ours.'' 
Frederick  could  bear  it  no  longer;  tho- 
roughly penetrated  with  a  sense  of  his  bro- 
ther's nobility  of  character,  he  burst  into  a 
flood  of  tears,  and  threw  himself  into  his 
arms  ;  he  could  say  nothing,  but  he  sobbed  as 
though  his  spirit  would  pass  away.  And  in 
part  it  was  so  ;  for  all  that  was  evil  in  his 
spirit  did  pass  away.  From  that  moment  he 
was  a  changed  and  reformed  man  ;  he  took 
his  brother  for  an  example  in  everything, 
looking  up  to  him  as  to  something  superior, 
and  ever  afterwards  the  most  perfect  union 
and  cordiality  existed  between  them. 


176  the  child's  favorite. 

Mrs.  Stanley  also  was  equally  struck  with 
the  virtue  and  generosity  of  her  step-son. 
Her  ill-treatment  of  him  had  arisen,  not 
so  much  from  real  cruelty  of  disposition, 
as  from  her  jealousy  and  over-fondness  for 
her  own  son.  She  had  also  heen  led  by  the 
latter  to  think  a  great  deal  of  George's  good- 
ness being  only  sly  pretence  to  secure  his 
father's  principal  regards ;  but  now  like 
Frederick  she  became  convinced  of  his  truly 
noble  disposition.  She  therefore  ran  to  him 
and  embraced  him  fondly ;  and  during  the 
rest  of  her  life  she  endeavored,  by  the 
greatest  kindness,  to  drive  from  George's 
memory,  all  recollection  of  the  harshness 
with  which  she  had  treated  him  in  childhood 
and  in  youth. 


SELF-CONQUEST. 


In  the  opposite  picture  you  behold  the 
opposite  effects  of  virtue  and  vice.  The 
artist  has  exhibited  the  slave  of  sin,  chained 
to  a  rock,  unsheltered  from  the  storm,  but 
seemingly  defying  his  fate  with  an  air  of 
passion  and  sullenness.  The  virtuous  and 
religious  person,  on  the  the  other  hand,  is 
raised  to  heaven  by  the  hands  of  angels. 
Her  countenance  is  full  of  hope  and  rap- 
turous joy,  and  her  eyes  are  raised  in  thank- 


178 

fulness  towards  heaven,  the  dwelling  of  her 
Redeemer. 

The  contrast  thus  presented  is  no  exagger- 
ation— no  fiction — but  a  true  representation 
of  the  consequences  which  result  from  the 
opposite  courses  pursued  by  those  who  culti- 
vate, and  those  who  neglect  to  cultivate  the 
better  part  of  their  being — the  immortal  soul. 
In  the  preceding  parts  of  this  volume  we  have 
endeavored  to  mingle  serious  instruction  with 
entertainment.  We  have  endeavored  to  en- 
force various  precepts  of  virtue.  There  are 
many  more  things  of  the  same  kind  conducive 
to  your  moral  training  which  should  claim 
your  attention  while  young.  One  of  the  chief 
of  these  is,  the  manner  in  which  you  should 
conduct  yourselves  towards  those  with  whom 


SELF-CONQUEST.  179 

you  associate  ;  and  as  I  am  desirous  of  com- 
pressing within  this  little  volume  as  much  as 
possible  of  useful  and  interesting  information 
to  suit  different  dispositions,  I  will  devote  a 
few  pages  to  the  subject,  leaving  it  to  your 
own  good  sense  to  read  what  I  say,  and  if 
you  feel  it  to  be  right,  to  practise  it. 

Indeed  in  everything  you  read  you  should 
have  a  better  object  in  view  than  merely  being 
able  to  say  that  you  know  such  and  such  a 
thing,  and  to  pass  for  a  clever  person.  You 
should  seek  to  improve  your  own  character 
by  comparing  it  with  that  of  those  whom  you 
read  about ;  for  we  all  have  some  evil  qualities 
to  repress,  and  some  good  ones  to  cultivate. 
By  doing  this  you  will  gain  the  esteem  and 
affection  of  every  one  who  is  acquainted  with 


180  the  child's  favorite. 

you,  and  this,  after  all,  is  the  main  object 
with  a  great  majority  of  us.  We  all  wish  to 
be  loved  by  those  we  mingle  with,  although 
passion  and  ill-temper  often  prevent  our 
taking  the  right  method  to  obtain  our  wish. 

Next  to  these  virtues,  without  which  no 
character  can  be  called  good,  there  are  no 
qualities  which  gain  us  so  much  the  affections 
of  our  fellow  creatures  as  an  amiable  deport- 
ment and  an  even  temper.  Even  the  most 
admirable  virtues  unaccompanied  by  these 
qualities  fail  of  effect,  for  they  are  obscured 
by  rude  or  ill-mannered  behaviour. 

Politeness,  therefore,  should  always  be  ob- 
served in  your  conduct  towards  others,  both 
in  your  own  families  and  with  strangers. 
Nothing  is  so  strong  a  recommendation  on  a 


SELF-CONQUEST.  181 

slight  acquaintance,  nor  does  it  lose  its  value 
by  time  or  intimacy,  for  it  would  prevent 
many  breaches  of  friendship  if  always  acted 
upon.  Politeness  it  is  true  cannot  be  taught 
by  rules.  It  springs  from  the  union  of  good 
sense  and  kind  feeling ;  but  she  who  is  de- 
sirous to  please,  will  take  care  to  cultivate 
good   dispositions. 

To  be  perfectly  polite,  one  must  have  pre- 
sence of  mind,  and  be  able  to  understand 
what  is  most  proper  to  do  or  say  upon  all 
occasions.  This  of  course  you  can  only  arrive 
at  by  degrees,  through  observation  and  a  wish 
to  improve ;  and  you  should  not  be  disheart- 
ened because  you  do  not  all  at  once  attain  to 
it.  If  you  have  good  sense  and  a  kind  heart, 
you  are  sure  to  succeed,  for  the  principles  of 


182  the  child's  favorite. 

politeness  are  always  the  same.  Wherever 
there  are  human  beings,  it  must  be  rude  and 
wrong  to  hurt  the  temper  or  wound  the  feel- 
ings of  those  you  are  mixed  up  with. 

At  your  age,  too,  people  are  generally  ready 
to  make  allowance  for  any  want  of  good  man- 
ners, if  they  see  that  it  does  not  spring  from 
bad  feeling,  and  that  you  are  willing  and 
obliging.  Sensible  persons  will  not  condemn 
you  for  want  of  knowledge,  because  that  may 
be  remedied  as  you  grow  older  and  learn 
more ;  but  ill-temper  and  passion  will  always 
make  you  enemies.  The  indulgence  of  such 
a  disposition  makes  you  also  your  own  worst 
enemy,  for  it  is  impossible  for  a  bad-tempered 
person  to  be  happy.  In  such  a  state  of  mind 
you  are  even  a  greater  burthen  to  yourself 


SELF-CONQUEST.  183 

than  to  others.  A  fit  of  ill-humour  will  spoil 
the  finest  entertainment,  and  is  as  real  a  tor- 
ment as  a  painful  disease. 

You  must  not  suppose  either,  in  indulging 
such  a  fit,  that  as  soon  as  the  thing  is  over 
it  passes  away.  No ;  each  succeeding  fit 
leaves  its  traces  upon  the  mind,  until,  at  last 
the  disposition  becomes  one  of  confirmed  ill- 
temper,  and  whatever  the  other  merits  of  the 
person  may  be,  she  is  universally  disliked. 

The  good-natured  person,  on  the  contrary, 
is  almost  sure  to  find  a  friend  in  every  one. 
Whatever  faults  she  may  have,  they  will  be 
treated  with  more  kindness  than  in  another  : 
she  will  find  an  advocate  in  every  heart;  her 
errors  will  be  lamented  rather  than  hated,  and 
her  virtues  will  be  viewed  in  the  most  favor- 


1S4  the  child's  favorite. 

able  light.  Good-humour,  even  if  you  pos- 
sess no  great  talents  and  accomplishments, 
will  make  your  company  more  liked  than  that 
of  the  most  clever  people,  who  have  not  the 
same  amiable  quality.  Indeed,  it  is  almost 
impossible  that  you  can  gain  the  love  and  es- 
teem ©f  any  one  without  this  engaging  pro- 
perty, whatever  other  excellencies  you  may 
possess ;  but  with  it  you  will  scarcely  fail  of 
finding  some  friends  and  favorers,  even 
though  you  should  want  almost  every  other 
advantage. 

Perhaps  some  may  say,  "  all  this  is  very 
true,  but  our  tempers  are  not  in  our  own 
power;  we  are  made  with  different  disposi- 
tions, and  if  mine  is  not  amiable  it  is  rather 
my  misfortune  than  my  fault."    This  is  very 


SELF-CONQUEST.  185 

often  said  by  those  who  will  not  take  the 
trouble  to  correct  themselves.  But  all  who 
say  so,  deceive  themselves  very  much,  and  the 
excuse  will  be  of  no.  good  to  them  when 
summoned  before  Him  who  searcheth  and 
knoweth  all  hearts.  It  is  true  we  are  not  all 
equally  happy  in  our  disposition ;  but  as  I 
told  you  before,  every  one  has  some  evil 
qualities  to  keep  under,  and  some  good  ones 
to  bring  forward,  and  it  is  in  doing  this  that 
virtue  consists. 

It  is  also  quite  plain,  from  experience,  that 
the  most  ill-tempered  people  can  command 
themselves  when  they  have  a  motive  strong 
enough  to  make  them  do  so.  For  instance, 
if  you  are  in  the  presence  of  any  one  you 
are  particularly  desirous  to  please,  whatever 

13 


186  the  child's  favorite. 

your  temper*  may  be,  you  will,  I  dare  say, 
take  care  not  to  show  it,  so  as  to  make  your- 
self disagreeable.  It  is,  therefore,  no  excuse 
to  persons  whom  you  have  injured  by  unkind 
words  or  vulgar  speeches,  to  tell  them  you 
were  in  a  passion ;  because  allowing  yourself 
to  treat  them  with  passion  is  a  proof  of  your 
want  of  respect  towards  them  ;  and  this, 
even  the  humblest  have  a  right  to  resent. 

If  your  temper  is  unfortunately  of  so  vio- 
lent a  nature,  the  best  way  is,  when  you  feel 
it  rising,  to  leave  the  room.  Resist  the  incli- 
nation you  may  feel  to  say  something  illna- 
tured  and  wounding  to  the  feelings  of  the 
person  who  may  have  offended  you,  because 
you  may  be  sure  that  it  is  unjust.  And  it 
will  be  unjust  for  this  reason  ;  that  your  mind 


SELF-CONQUEST.  187 

will  not  be  in  a  fit  state  to  reason  calmly,  or 
to  hear  reason  from  others.  Retire,  then,  I 
say,  altogether,  until  you  grow  cool.  By  thus 
accustoming  yourself  to  conquer  and  control 
your  anger,  you  will  find  by  degrees  how  easy 
it  is  to  keep  it  within  proper  bounds.  Such 
a  sphere  of  conquest  is  open  to  all ;  to  girls 
and  women  as  well  as  to  boys  and  men  ;  and 
it  is  a  nobler  one  than  any  in  which  heroes 
and  warriors  shine  conspicuous. 

But  more  than  this,  to  restrain  our  passion 
and  ill-temper  is  a  positive  Christian  duty. 
Young  people  do  not  seem  to  be  sufficiently 
aware  of  this,  or  of  the  great  sin  they  are 
guilty  of  in  not  practising  it.  But  hear  what 
our  blessed  Saviour  says  upon  the  subject. 
In  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount  you  will  find 


188  the  child's  favorite. 

these  words :  "  I  say  unto  you  that  whoso- 
ever is  angry  with  his  brother  without  a 
cause  (which  means  without  sufficient  cause) 
shall  be  in  danger  of  the  judgment ;  and 
whomsoever  shall  say  to  his  brother,  Kaca, 
shall  be  in  danger  of  the  council :  but  who- 
soever shall  say,  thou  fool,  shall  be  in  danger 
of  hell-fire." 

Now  you  know  that  when  the  Bible  men- 
tions the  word  brother,  as  it  is  here  put,  it 
has  the  same  sense  as  neighbor,  and  means 
that  all  mankind  are  brothers.  You  see, 
therefore,  what  a  terrible  sentence  is  pro- 
nounced against  those  who  put  themselves 
into  a  passion  with  their  companions  without 
just  cause,  and  call  them  names. 

Lay  these  things,  then,  well  to  heart :  and 


SELF-CONQUEST.  189 

to  show  you  that  such  faults  may  easily  be 
corrected,  and  are  therefore  without  excuse, 
I  will  tell  you  a  little  tale.  It  is  an  anecdote 
of  a  very  sensible  lady,  who  received  a  well- 
deserved  rebuke  for  her  ill-temper  in  good 
part,  and  did  not  fail  to  profit  by  it. 

This  lady,  along  with  a  gentleman  and 
some  other  ladies,  went  one  day  to  visit  the 
British  Museum.  You  have  all  heard  of  the 
British  Museum,  I  suppose;  and  some  of 
you,  I  dare  say,  have  been  there.  It  is  a  very 
large  building  in  London,  where  there  are  a 
great  many  curiosities,  and  other  things,  to 
be  seen.  The  well-known  Dr.  Ayscough 
was  one  of  the  gentlemen  whose  duty  it  was 
to  attend  upon  the  visitors  to  this  place,  and 
show  them  about   the  rooms  ;  and  he  hap- 


190  the  child's  favorite. 

pened  to  accompany  this  lady  and  her  party 
for  the  purpose  of  explaining  to  them  what 
they  saw.  Every  one  of  the  party  but  her- 
self seemed  disposed  to  be  highly  delighted 
with  all  they  beheld ;  but  she  was  continually 
teazing  them  to  come  away,  and  making  light 
of  what  appeared  to  please  them. 

"  Oh,  trumpery  !"  every  now  and  then  she 
said;  "come  along.  Lor'  I  see  nothing- 
worth  looking  at!" 

These  and  such  like  exclamations  she  kept 
continually  addressing  to  her  friends,  urging 
them  to  make  haste.  It  so  happened  that 
this  lady  was  the  handsomest  of  the  party ; 
and  Dr.  Ayscough,  although  an  old  bachelor, 
being  a  great  admirer  of  beauty,  had  at  first 
selected  her  to  pay  the  most  attention  to. 


SELF-CONQUEST.  191 

Seeing  her  so  disagreeable,  however,  he  soon 
transferred  his  attention  to  one  of  her  com- 
panions, who,  though  less  handsome,  was 
much  more  amiable.  At  last  he  was  so 
annoyed  with  her  continuing  to  speak  so 
contemptuously  of  every  thing  she  came  to, 
that  he  turned  towards  her  and  said : 

"  My  sweet  young  lady,  what  pains  you 
kindly  take  to  prevent  that  pretty  face  of 
yours  from  killing  half  the  beaux  in  Lon- 
don." 

He  then  directed  his  conversation  again  to 
the  other  members  of  the  party,  explaining 
to  them  the  different  objects  that  they  saw. 

So  much  influence,  however,  did  this  lady 
seem  to  possess  over  her  friends  that  they 
hastened  from  one  thing  to  another  quicker 


192  the  child's  favorite. 

than  they  otherwise  would  have  done.  At 
length  they  reached  the  last  room,  and  having 
seen  all  they  wished,  Dr.  Ayscough  prepared 
to  bid  them  adieu.  Just  before  he  made  his 
parting  bow,  however,  he  turned  to  the  lady 
who  had  made  herself  so  disagreeable,  and 
with  an  easy  politeness  of  manner  thus  smil- 
ingly addressed  her : 

"  Why,  what  a  cross  little  puss  you  are ; 
nothing  seems  to  please  you.  Here  are  ten 
thousand  curious  and  valuable  things  brought 
at  a  vast  expense  from  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  you  turn  up  your  nose  at  the  whole  of 
them.  Do  you  think  with  these  airs  that  that 
pretty  face  will  ever  get  you  a  husband  ?  Not 
if  he  knows  you  half  an  hour  first.  Almost 
every  day  of  my  life,  and  especially  when 


SELF-CONQUEST.  193 

attending  ladies  through  these  rooms,  I  regret 
being  an  old  bachelor,  for  I  see  so  many 
charming,  good  tempered  women,  that  I  re- 
proach myself  for  not  trying  to  persuade  one 
of  them  to  bless  me  with  their  company. 
But  I  can't  fall  in  love  with  you,  and  I'll 
honestly  tell  you,  I  shall  pity  the  man  that 
does,  for  I  am  sure  that  you'll  plague  him 
out  of  his  life." 

During  this  singular  farewell  address,  the 
gentleman  who  was  of  the  party  looked  first 
at  the  speaker  and  then  at  the  lady,  but  it 
was  delivered  in  such  a  pleasant  manner  that 
no  one  could  take  offence  at  it.  The  lady, 
however,  you  may  be  sure,  did  not  altogether 
like  it,  and  her  fine  dark  eyes  flashed  rather 
fiercely  at  the  good  doctor  as  he  spoke ;  but 


194  the  child's  favorite. 

nothing  was  said,  and  the  whole  party  then 
went  away. 

Somewhat  more  than  a  year  afterwards 
the  Doctor  conducted  a  similar  party  upon 
the  round  again.  He  was  particularly  pleased 
with  one  lady  of  the  party,  and  as  she  was 
the  prettiest,  he  devoted  himself,  according  to 
his  usual  custom,  to  her.  She  displayed  the 
most  anxious  desire  to  be  made  acquainted 
with  every  thing  she  saw,  and  in  the  most 
amiable  manner  begged  the  Doctor  to  explain 
to  her  what  she  did  not  understand.  She 
also  drew  the  attention  of  her  friends  to 
many  objects  they  would  otherwise  have 
passed  by,  and  seemed  anxious  that  they 
should  be  as  much  gratified  as  herself. 

In  short,  this   lady  was  disposed    to  be 


SELF-CONQUEST.  195 

pleased,  and  therefore  every  thing  did  please 
her.  Dr.  Ayscough  was  equally  delighted  ; 
and  while  he  admired  the  beauty  of  her  form, 
he  was  still  more  struck  with  the  charms  of 
her  mind.  At  length,  having  shown  them  all 
that  was  to  be  seen,  he  was  about  to  make 
his  best  bow,  when  his  pretty  and  amiable 
companion,  with  an  arch  smile,  asked  him  if 
he  remembered  her  ? 

"  No,  madam, "  said  he  ;  "but  I  shall  not 
easily  forget  you." 

Then  linking  her  arm  in  that  of  a  gentle- 
man who  was  one  of  the  party,  she  asked,  in 
the  same  engaging  manner,  whether  he  re- 
membered him  ? 

"  Yes,  I  think  I  do,"  replied  the  Doctor; 


196  the  child's  favorite. 

"  but  the  gentleman  looks  better  now  than  he 
did  before." 

"  Now,  sir/'  continued  the  lady,  "  don't 
you  recollect  once,  in  this  very  room,  giving  a 
lady,  who  was  pleased  with  nothing,  and  dis- 
pleased with  every  thing,  a  smart  lecture  for 
her  caprice  and  ill  temper?" 

"Yes,  Madam,  I  do." 

"Well,  Sir,  I  am  that  lady;  or  I  should 
rather  say  I  was;  for  you  have  been  the 
means,  in  the  hands  of  Divine  Providence, 
of  making  me  a  totally  different  being  to 
what  I  then  was,  and  I  am  now  come  to 
thank  you  for  it.  Your  half-in-jest,  half-in- 
earnest  mode  of  reproof  caused  me  to  know 
myself,  and  was  of  far  more  use  than  all  that 


SELF-CONQUEST.  197 

had  been  done  before  in  correcting  a  spoilt 
temper.  After  we  had  left  you  I  said  to 
myself:  'If  I  appear  thus  unamiable  to  a 
stranger,  how  must  I  appear  to  my  friends, 
especially  to  those  who  are  destined  to  live 
constantly  with  me  V  You  asked  me,  Sir, 
if  I  expected  ever  to  get  a  husband ;  I  then 
had  one,  this  gentleman,  who  was  present  at 
your  just  reproof;  and  I  dare  say  he  will 
join  with  me  in  thanking  you  for  giving  it  so 
frankly  and  successfully." 

The  husband  then  expressed  his  thanks  to 
Dr.  Ayscough  in  the  most  cordial  manner  for 
having  added  so  much  to  the  happiness  of 
both  himself  and  his  wife.  He  then  left  his 
address  with  the  good  Doctor,  and  telling 
him  that  they  should  be  most  happy  to  see 


198  the  child's  favorite. 

him  at  their  house,  they  shook  him  by  the 
hand  and  departed. 

Now  here,  my  dear  young  readers,  was 
surely  a  noble  triumph  over  ill-temper ;  and 
as  the  wise  King  Solomon  says:  "greater" 
does  this  sensible  and  candid  woman  seem, 
"in  ruling  her  spirit,  than  he  that  taketh  a 
city." 


THE    FAVORITE    DOG. 


My  little  boy,  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you 
making  a  pet  of  your  dog.  He  tosses  the 
biscuit  from  his  nose,  and  catches  it  at  the 
word  of  command,  quite  cleverly.  Pray 
what  are  you  sprinkling  water  on  his  nose 
for  ?  Probably  it  is  to  try  his  patience.  Well, 
you  may  take  much  greater  liberties  with  the 
dog  than  with  the  cat,  who  would  instantly 
resent  such  a  proceeding  as  that. 

The  dog  is  the  most  reasonable,  the  most 


200  the  child's  favorite. 

knowing,  and  the  most  noble  animal  that 
God  has  made ;  and  all  his  services  are  given 
to  man.  In  many  things  he  is  superior  to 
man.  Where  shall  we  find  a  man  always 
grateful,  never  ungrateful ;  always  affection- 
ate, never  selfish ;  without  gain ;  devoted  till 
death;  without  ambition;  rendering  every 
service  ;  in  short,  forgetful  of  injuries,  and 
only  mindful  of  benefits  received  ?  Seek  him 
not,  it  will  be  a  useless  task;  but  take  the 
first  dog  you  meet,  and  from  the  moment 
that  he  adopts  you  for  his  master,  you  will 
find  in  him  all  these  qualities. 

If  we  trace  the  early  history  of  the  dog, 
it  will,  I  fear,  not  be  much  to  his  advantage. 
The  word  Cynic,  among  the  Greeks,  is  taken 
from  the  name  of  a  dog ;  and  the  Romans 


THE    FAVORITE    DOG.  201 

were  not  more  complimentary.  And  to  come 
at  once  to  our  own  time,  we  have  the  French 
canaille  and  cagnard,  both  derived  from  the 
Latin  canis  (a  dog) ;  the  first  signifying  the 
lowest  of  the  population,  and  the  second  an 
idle  and  slothful  man,  who  only  cumbers  the 
earth.  St.  Chrysostom  also  speaks  of  the 
dog  as  fawning  upon  you,  when  you  approach 
him,  and  biting  your  heels  when  your  back 
is  turned.  But,  with  all  due  reverence  to 
this  saint,  I  think  he  has  libelled  the  dog. 

The  dog  was  unclean  to  the  Jews,  because 
he  was  not  cloven-footed  ;  but  the  heathens 
made  a  religion  of  that  which  was  impiety  to 
Israel.  The  Romans  sacrificed  him  to  their 
gods ;  and  whipped  him  annually  for  a  crim- 
inal, and  then  impaled  him,  because  his  an- 

14 


202  THE    CHILD  S   FAVORITE. 

cestors  had  slept  on  the  night  on  which  the 
Gauls  attempted  to  seize  the  capitol. 

The  sacrifice  of  the  dog,  if  legends  are  to 
be  trusted,  led  to  his  being  eaten.  Porphyry 
states,  that  a  part  of  his  carcase  having  fallen 
from  the  altar,  the  priest  picked  it  up  ;  and 
burning  his  fingers  with  the  smoking  flesh, 
put  them  suddenly  to  his  mouth.  The  taste 
was  so  savoury,  that,  the  ceremony  ended, 
he  ate  his  fill  of  the  dog,  and  he  took  the  rest 
to  his  wife.  However  this  may  be,  the  dog 
found  his  way  into  the  larder.  Hippocrates 
says,  he  was  eaten  by  the  Greeks  ;  and  the 
Romans  considered  him  so  great  a  delicacy, 
that  a  puppy  was  prominent  at  some  of  their 
most  sumptuous  feasts.  In  China,  it  is  well 
known  that  he  is  fattened  upon  vegetables, 


THE    FAVORITE    DOG.  203 

like  an  ox  or  a  pig,  and  publicly  sold  in  the 
butchers'  shops.  The  sale  of  dogs'  flesh  for 
human  food  is  carried  on  secretly  in  Paris, 
although  forbidden  by  the  government,  who 
extend  a  formal  sanction  to  the  traffic  in 
horse-flesh. 

In  England  there  is  a  tax  upon  dogs, 
which  keeps  them  down  ;  but  in  some  other 
countries,  nearly  all  the  dogs  that  are  born 
are  suffered  to  grow  up ;  and,  running  about 
the  streets  mangy  and  half-starved,  they  are 
a  great  nuisance.  In  France  the  chiffonniers 
are  commissioned  to  knock  the  wanderers 
on  the  head.  A  few  years  ago,  the  govern- 
ment of  Bombay  was  obliged  to  send  out  a 
cargo  of  dogs  to  be  destroyed  out  at  sea,  in 
order  to  rid  the  city  of  their  numbers,  with- 


£04  the  child's  favorite. 

out  giving  offence  to  the  Parsees,  a  religious 
sect,  who  regard  them  with  reverence.  But, 
in  some  eastern  cities,  a  man  armed  with  a 
heavy  bludgeon  drags  a  dead  dog  about  the 
street,  which  bringing  to  him  all  the  curs  of 
the  neighborhood,  he  mows  them  down,  right 
and  left,  without  pit}'. 

The  physicians  of  former  days  employed 
the  dog  in  a  most  revolting  manner,  to  the 
cure  of  disease.  He  was  opened  alive,  and 
applied  warm  to  assuage  pain.  They  had 
sometimes  the  mercy  to  cut  his  throat,  and 
wait  the  expiration  of  life,  before  he  was 
applied  as  a  plaister.  He,  however,  entered 
largely  into  the  preparations  of  the  phar- 
macopoeia :  his  bones  were  pounded  for 
powder,  his  feet  melted  for  ointments,  and 


THE    FAVORITE    DOG.  205 

his  carcase  distilled  for  liquors  of  extraordi- 
nary virtue. 

Black  dogs  were  considered  in  early  times 
to  be  the  agents  of  magicians,  and  the  earthly 
form  of  the  Evil  One  himself.  Even  so  late 
as  1702,  the  French  soldiers  who  defended 
Landaic  against  the.  arms  of  the  Imperialists, 
were  firmly  persuaded  that  the  dog  of  their 
general  was  a  familiar  spirit,  the  real  author 
of  all  their  victories.  It  is  said,  also,  that 
the  dogs  refused  the  bread  that  was  thrown 
them  by  the  assassins  of  Thomas  a  Becket. 

The  dog  was  at  a  very  early  period  trained 
for  the  purposes  of  war,  where,  from  his 
vigilance  and  bravery,  he  answered  all  the 
purposes  of  an  armed  sentinel ;  and  this 
mode  of  defence   is  asserted  to  have   ccn- 


206  the  child's  favorite. 

tinued  till  the  introduction  of  regular  armies. 
They  were  long  used  by  the  Turks  to  guard 
outposts.  At  the  present  moment  the  French 
videttes,  in  Algiers,  are  always  preceded  by 
a  couple  of  dogs.  Anciently  they  were  con- 
spicuous in  the  action  itself.  After  Marcus 
had  defeated  the  Cimbri,  his  legions  had  to 
renew  a  deadlier  battle  with  the  women  and 
the  dogs.  The  Celts  deemed  their  dogs  of 
such  importance  in  war,  that  they  armed 
them  with  collars  of  pointed  iron,  and  put  a 
plate  of  steel  over  their  backs.  Some  dogs 
accoutred  with  the  latter  piece  of  defensive 
armor,  form  the  subject  of  a  bronze  discover- 
ed at  Herculaneum.  Certain  Gauls  not  only 
made  the  dog  discharge  the  duty  of  a  soldier 
in  their  wars,  but  a  squadron  of  200  formed 


THE    FAVORITE    DOG.  207 

the  body-guard  of  their  king.  This  appears 
to  have  been  imitated  in  Ireland  ;  as  Queen 
Elizabeth  sent  no  less  than  600  with  the 
army  of  Essex.  Columbus,  also,  in  St. 
Domingo,  with  a  force  of  200  foot,  twenty 
horse,  and  fifty  dogs,  routed  a  great  number 
of  the  natives ;  and  the  terrible  wounds  in- 
flicted upon  the  native  savages  by  the  bites 
of  dogs,  created  such  a  panic,  that  hence- 
forth they  became  generally  used  in  Ameri- 
can warfare. 

In  1795,  a  hundred  bloodhounds  were 
landed  at  Jamaica,  under  English  colours, 
to  attack  the  Maroons.  When  a  trial  was 
made  of  them,  by  a  sham  fire,  they  rushed 
forward  with  the  greatest  impetuosity,  drag- 
ging  along  their  keepers,   who   held   them 


208  the  child's  favorite. 

back  by  ropes,  and  even  running,  in  their 
ferocity,  to  bite  their  muskets,  till  they  tore 
pieces  from  their  stocks. 

There  are  some  strange  stories  upon 
record  of  dogs.  The  story  told  by  Pliny  of 
a  dog,  belonging  to  Alexander  the  Great, 
who  conquered,  one  after  the  other,  a  lion 
and  an  elephant,  is  probably  a  fable  ;  and 
particularly  the  addition,  that  his  tail,  his 
legs,  and  his  head  were  severally  cut  off, 
without  making  him  loose  his  hold.  But 
there  are  better  grounds  for  believing  that  a 
dog  engaged  the  king  of  beasts,  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  VII.,  who  absurdly  ordered  him 
to  be  hanged  for  his  presumption. 

The  dog  is  variously  employed  at  St. 
John's,  in  Newfoundland.    About  two  thou- 


THE    FAVORITE    DOG.  209 

sand  of  the  fine  dogs,  who  take  their  name 
from  the  place,  transport  heavy  goods  of 
wood  and  provisions ;  and,  in  return  for 
their  labour,  are  left,  the  half  of  the  year  in 
which  they  are  not  required,  without  a  single 
morsel  beyond  what  their  own  exertions  can 
procure.  On  the  Continent  of  Europe,  also, 
the  dog  is  slavingly  employed  in  the  smug- 
gling trade;  and  in  this  arduous  service, 
which  is  constantly  fatal  to  him,  he  shows  a 
wonderful  sagacity.  Loaded  with  goods,  he 
sets  out  in  the  night,  scents  the  custom-house 
officer,  and  attacks  him,  if  he  can  take  him 
at, an  advantage,  and  conceals  himself,  if 
escape  is  difficult,  behind  some  bush  or  tree. 
On  his  arrival  at  his  place  of  destination,  he 
will  not  show  himself  till  he  has  first  ascer- 


210  the  child's  favorite. 

tained  that  the  coast  is  clear;  and  while  he 
remains,  gives  warning  of  the  approach  of 
the  common  enemy. 

The  memory  of  the  dog  can  also  be  at- 
tested by  a  number  of  stories.  The  first  is 
told  by  Plutarch,  who  made  his  army  defile 
before  a  dog,  who  for  three  days^  guarded  a 
murdered  corpse,  without  eating  or  drinking, 
and  who  seized  the  culprit  as  he  passed 
along.  The  most  notorious  is  the  story  of 
the  dog  of  Montargis ;  who  dragged  his 
master's  friend  to  the  spot  where  he  was 
buried,  flew  on  the  assassin  whenever  he 
met  him,  and  finally  overcame  him  in  a 
single  combat,  which  took  place  by  order  of 
Louis  VIII. 

Benvenuto  Cellini  gives  an  account  of  an 


THE    FAVORITE    DOG.  211 

incident  which  happened  to  himself.  A  thief 
one  night  broke  into  his  shop.  The  dog  con- 
tended with  the  culprit,  although  he  was 
armed  with  a  sword ;  and  next  running  into 
the  journeymen's  chamber,  awoke  them  by- 
drawing  off  the  bed-clothes.  The  men  not 
comprehending  the  cause  of  his  impetuosity, 
drove  him  from  the  room,  and  locked  the 
door.  Nothing  daunted,  he  returned  to  the 
charge  ;  and  overtaking  the  thief,  who  had 
retreated  from  the  street,  he  held  him  by  the 
cloak.  The  fellow  had  the  wit  to  cry  out 
"  Mad  dog,"  which  brought  the  loiterers  to 
his  assistance  ;  and  for  this  time  he  escaped. 
After  a  considerable  interval,  as  Cellini  was 
walking  in  one  of  the  squares  of  Rome,  his 
dog  flew  at  a  young  man,  and  endeavored  to 


212  THE    CHILD  S   FAVORITE. 

tear  him  to  pieces,  in  spite  of  the  sticks  that 
belabored  him.  The  dog  was  got  off;  but 
as  the  man  was  retiring,  he  dropped  a  bundle 
of  papers,  from  which  fell  a  ring  of  the 
artist's.  "This  is  the  villain,"  said  Cellini, 
"  which  broke  into  my  shop,  and  my  dog 
knows  him  again."  And  he  once  more  let 
loose  the  animal ;  but  the  thief  immediately 
fell  on  his  knees,  and  confessed  his  crime. 

One  of  the  most  extraordinary  facts  re- 
lating to  the  dog,  is  that  wonderful  instinct 
which  enables  him  to  find  his  way  by  a  road 
which  he  has  never  yet  traversed.  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott  took  a  dog  from  Edinburgh  to 
Inverness,  by  sea ;  and  being  lost  there,  he 
found  his  way  back  to  Edinburgh  in  two 
days.     A  French  writer  also  gives  an   ac- 


THE    FAVORITE    DOG.  213 

count  of  a  person  who  took  a  terrier  from 
Rochefort  to  Paris,  in  a  bag,  which  returned 
the  next  day  to  his  old  home. 

Dogs  are  also  very  affectionate  to  animals 
brought  up  with  them.  A  Newfoundland 
dog,  at  loose,  has  been  known  to  take  bones 
to  a  dog  tied  up.  Perhaps,  on  some  future 
occasion,  I  may  tell  you  more  about  the  dog ; 
but  for  the  present  must  refrain  :  in  the  hope, 
however,  that  my  young  friend  will  always 
treat  dogs  kindly. 


CHRISTIANA    OF    HOLSTEIN, 


In  the  little  town  of  Oranienbaum  lived  a 
woman,  bordering  on  ninety,  by  name  Chris- 
tiana, a  native  of  Holstein.  A  little  cottage 
was  her  sole  possession,  and  the  supplying 
of  necessaries  to  a  few  ship-masters,  coming 
over  from  Cronstadt  to  go  to  Petersburgh 
by  land,  when  the  wind  was  unfavorable  for 
sailing  up,  constituted  her  only  livelihood. 

Several  Dutch  ship-masters  having  one 
evening  supped  at  her  house,  on  their  depar- 


CHRISTIANA    OF    HOLSTEIN.  215 

ture  she  found  a  sealed  bag  of  money  under 
the  table.  Her  surprise  at  this  unexpected 
discovery  was  naturally  very  great.  Some 
one  of  the  company  just  gone  must  certainly 
have  forgotten  it ;  but  they  had  sailed  over 
to  Cronstadt,  and  were  perhaps  at  sea,  the 
wind  being  fair ;  and,  therefore,  there  was 
no  hope  of  the  guests  returning.  The  good 
woman  put  the  bag  in  her  cupboard,  to  keep 
it  till  called  for.  However,  nobody  called 
for  it.  Full  seventeen  years  did  she  care- 
fully keep  this  deposit,  often  tempted  by 
opportunities,  still  oftener  pressed  by  severe 
want,  to  employ  this  treasure  to  her  own 
use ;  but  her  honesty  overcame  every  temp- 
tation, and  every  command  of  want. 


216  the  child's  favorite. 

Seventeen  years  had  elapsed,  when  some 
ship-masters  again  stopped  at  her  house, 
to  take  what  refreshment  they  could  find. 
Three  of  them  were  Englishmen,  the  fourth 
a  Dutchman.  Conversing  of  various  mat- 
ters, one  of  the  former  asked  the  Dutchman 
if  he  had  ever  before  been  at  Oranienbaum. 
"  Yes,  sure  I  have,"  returned  he  ;  "  I  know 
the  place  but  too  well ;  my  being  here  once 
cost  me  seven  hundred  rubles." 

"How  so?" 

"  Why,  in  one  or  other  of  these  wretched 
hovels  I  once  got  rather  tipsy,  and  left  be- 
hind me  a  large  bag  of  rubles,  which  I  never 
regained." 

"  Was  the  bag  sealed  ?"  asked  old  Chris- 


CHRISTIANA    OF    HOLSTEIN.  217 

tiana,  who  was  sitting  in  one  corner  of  the 
room,  and  had  been  roused  to  attention  by 
what  she  had  heard. 

"  Yes,  it  was  sealed,  and  with  'this  very 
seal  at  my  watch-chain." 

The  woman  looked  at  the  seal,  and  knew 
it  directly.  "  Well,  then,"  said  she,  "  by 
that  I  should  think  you  may  be  able  to  re- 
cover what  you  lost." 

"  Recover  it,  mother !  no ;  I  am  rather 
too  old  to  expect  that.  The  world  is  not 
quite  so  honest  as  that  comes  to." 

While  the  four  gentlemen  were  engaged 

in  conversation,  the  old  woman  had  slipped 

out,  and  was  now  waddling  in  with  the  bag. 

"  See  here,  perhaps  you  may  be  convinced 
15 


21 S  the  child's  favorite. 

that  honesty  is  not  so  rare  as  you  imagined," 
said  she,  putting  the  bag  upon,  the  table. 

The  guests  were  overcome  with  astonish- 
ment ;  and  the  reader  may  imagine  to  him- 
self their  several  expressions  of  commenda- 
tion and  gratitude.  The  Dutchman  seized 
the  bag,  tore  open  the  seal,  took — one  ruble 
out !  and  laid  it  on  the  table,  with  a  civil 
thanksgiving  for  the  trouble  his  hostess  had 
taken. 

If  the  astonishment  of  the  other  three  was 
great  before,  it  was  now  effaced  by  a  still 
greater.  They  stood  looking  at  one  another 
for  a  minute,  as  silent  as  statues.  "  By  my 
faith,"  at  last  exclaimed  one  of  the  English- 
men, striking  his  fist  upon  the  table,   "  that 


CHRISTIANA    OF    HOLSTEIN-  219 

bag,  there,  my  lad,  you  shall  not  carry  off  so. 
May  I  never  stir,  but  the  old  woman  shall 
have  a  hundred  rubles  out  of  it,  as  a  reward 
for  her  honesty."  His  two  countrymen, 
who  had  been  mute  till  now,  added  their 
hearty  concurrence  to  his  proposal. 

After  a  long  debate,  the  Dutchman  agreed 
to  part  with  fifty  rubles.  The  Englishmen 
insisted  on  a  hundred.  This  proposal  seem- 
ed to  him  so  unreasonable,  that  he  declared 
he  would  never  comply  with  it. 

"Avast,  my  lads  !"  cried  the  captain,  who 
had  made  the  first  attack  upon  the  Dutch- 
man's generosity,  "  I  have  somewhat  to  say. 
The  bag  does  not  belong  to  us,  it  is  true ;  but 
a  Briton  will  never  stand  by  and  not  see  jus- 
tice done;  and,  in  good  truth,  the  woman 


220  the  child's  favorite. 

here  has  acted  nobly.  Give  me  hold  of  the 
bag.  I  will  count  out  the  hundred  rubles. " 
No  sooner  said  than  done.  The  Dutch- 
man, thunderstruck  at  this  summary  way  of 
proceeding,  had  not  time  to  recover  himself 
before  the  hundred  rubles  were  fairly  count- 
ed upon  the  table,  and  handed  to  the  honest 
old  Christiana. 


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